When Flick arrived in 2024, Barcelona had talented players but faced injuries, financial difficulties and disagreement over how much the squad needed to change. Club president Joan Laporta believed a new coach could get more from the existing team. This article looks at how that decision, Flick’s playing style, the development of young players and later signings brought Barcelona to its current position.

Before Flick Arrived

Barcelona had won La Liga under Xavi Hernández in 2022/23, but the following season ended without a trophy. Xavi’s title-winning team controlled matches through possession and pressing and was especially difficult to score against. That defensive strength, combined with Robert Lewandowski’s goals, allowed Barcelona to win even when games remained close.

The balance became harder to maintain in 2023/24. Sergio Busquets, who had given Barcelona stability in midfield, had left the club, while Gavi, who helped win the ball back quickly, suffered a long-term injury. Frenkie de Jong also missed time with an ankle injury, leaving Barcelona with fewer experienced midfielders available together.

Barcelona still had the quality to reach the Champions League quarter-finals, but defensive mistakes became more costly.

At the same time young players like Lamine Yamal and Pau Cubarsí established themselves in the first team, showing that the club had talents it could build around. But developing those players would take time, and bringing in experienced replacements or additional players was difficult. Barcelona was still carrying heavy debts after years of expensive transfers and high salaries, compounded by lost income during the pandemic. The club was reducing its wage bill, while the move to the smaller Olympic Stadium during Camp Nou’s renovation reduced income further.

Xavi questioned how far Barcelona could go under these conditions without significant changes to the squad. Club president Joan Laporta believed the existing players could achieve more. In May 2024, he decided to appoint a new coach who shared that belief. That search led Barcelona to Hansi Flick.

Flick’s First Two Seasons

Laporta said Flick understood Barcelona’s playing style, knew its young players from La Masia and believed in the squad’s potential. He expected the German coach to bring fresh impetus and make the team more competitive.

Flick had built an intensely attacking team at Bayern Munich, winning six trophies, before coaching Germany’s national team. He was dismissed from that position in 2023 after disappointing results, but his success at Bayern and his confidence in Barcelona’s players convinced the club to appoint him.

Flick said he wanted to create the right environment for Barcelona’s young players to improve. Laporta also wanted better physical preparation after a season disrupted by injuries and drops in performance later in matches. This suited Flick’s intention to make Barcelona play with greater intensity, which would require the players to maintain their effort throughout a game.

His first preseason centred on preparing the team for a more direct and intense style of play. Flick built on the possession and high pressing Barcelona already used under Xavi, but wanted the team to attack towards goal more quickly, giving opponents less time to organise their defence. The forwards would help defend from the front, while Barcelona’s defenders moved up behind them. By forcing mistakes close to the opposing goal and attacking immediately, Barcelona could turn that pressure into scoring opportunities.

That gave Flick a way to make more use of the attacking talent already at the club. Yamal and Raphinha could use their speed against opponents caught out of position, while Lewandowski remained the main goalscorer. Barcelona could still create chances through patient passing, but Flick placed greater emphasis on moving forward quickly when an opening appeared. The physical preparation mattered because the whole team had to keep applying that pressure together.

Dani Olmo’s arrival from RB Leipzig added another player who could create chances and score. Bringing him into the team, however, showed that Barcelona’s financial problems remained. His registration for league matches was delayed, and the club initially relied on an allowance for long-term injuries, following an injury to defender Andreas Christensen, to register him.

As the season developed, Raphinha became particularly effective in Flick’s system. He helped lead the pressure on opponents and took on a greater role in scoring, while Yamal became an increasingly important source of chances. Barcelona scored more than 170 goals in 2024/25 and won La Liga, the Copa del Rey and the Spanish Super Cup. The first season showed how much the team could improve through changes to its preparation and playing style.

The Champions League semi-finals also exposed the risks. Barcelona lost to Inter Milan after two close matches, the second decided in extra time. Inter scored from crosses and set pieces and found ways to attack the space behind Barcelona’s defenders. Moving the team forward had helped Barcelona create more chances, but it also left them vulnerable when opponents escaped their pressure.

Barcelona continued with Flick’s attacking style in 2025/26. Marcus Rashford arrived on loan, adding speed and another option in attack, while Joan García joined as goalkeeper. Within the team, Yamal took on more responsibility for scoring as well as creating chances. He and Ferran Torres each scored 16 league goals, helping Barcelona retain La Liga and the Spanish Super Cup.

Atlético Madrid, however, knocked Barcelona out of the Copa del Rey in the semi-finals and the Champions League in the quarter-finals. Flick’s second season ended with two more trophies, but Barcelona had again fallen short in Europe.

A Stronger Squad and a Record Start

By the summer of 2026, Barcelona’s financial position had improved. Sponsorship and merchandise sales were growing, while the return to Camp Nou had increased stadium income. Player sales brought in additional money, and departures freed space on the wage bill. Although the club still faced financial difficulties, these changes gave it more room to strengthen the team Flick had built.

One of the main arrivals was Rodri from Manchester City, winner of the 2024 Ballon d’Or. He brought experience in midfield and the ability to protect the defence while helping Barcelona control possession. Flick praised his leadership and said that playing him alongside Pedri would give the team more control of matches. For a side that committed so many players to attacking, Rodri offered support behind them and a way to keep possession when a quick attack was not possible.

Barcelona also needed new players in attack after Lewandowski and Ferran Torres left. Gabriel Jesus joined from Arsenal to play through the centre, while Anthony Gordon arrived from Newcastle and Karim Adeyemi from Borussia Dortmund to strengthen the sides. Gordon and Adeyemi brought speed that suited Flick’s approach, allowing Barcelona to attack before opponents could organise their defence. Together, the arrivals added greater control in midfield and more choices for the fast attacking football established over the previous two seasons.

The new players joined a team in which Yamal and Raphinha had become increasingly influential. Raphinha took on a central attacking role and became the league’s leading scorer, while Yamal continued to create chances as well as score. Barcelona opened the season with seven league wins and 31 goals, a club record for that stage of the competition. Together with victory in their opening Champions League match, that made eight consecutive wins across both competitions.

Barcelona had already extended Flick’s contract until 2028, showing its confidence in his work. Flick has been more cautious about the early results, stressing that what matters is how the team finishes the season.

Conclusion

Flick took over a Barcelona team that had already won under Xavi but was struggling with departures, injuries and financial limits. Laporta’s decision to appoint him rested on the belief that the players could achieve more. Flick’s changes to their preparation and playing style helped turn that belief into two league titles, while the development of younger players gave the club a stronger team to build around.

Improved finances then allowed Barcelona to bring in more experience in midfield and more speed in attack. The record start to 2026/27 follows that combination of coaching, player development and recruitment over two seasons. Success in Spain has been sustained; whether the team can go further in Europe remains to be seen.

China has become central to this debate because it is now one of the main competitors in advanced AI development. At the same time, Beijing has introduced its own controls on artificial intelligence and has repeatedly stated that AI should remain secure, controllable and under human supervision. The United States and China are now preparing for their first official bilateral discussions devoted specifically to artificial intelligence, with talks on AI safety under consideration for mid-September.

This article examines the security risks surrounding advanced AI, the competitive landscape in which the technology is being developed, and how the United States, China and Europe are approaching AI security. It also examines why strategic competition between the United States and China makes broader agreement on slowing development difficult.

The Security Risks of Advanced AI

The security concerns surrounding artificial intelligence have increased as models have become capable of performing more complex tasks with less human supervision. Current systems can write software, analyse large amounts of information and use external tools, while newer AI agents can complete sequences of tasks with limited human intervention. This increases their usefulness but also creates new ways in which the technology can be misused or behave unexpectedly.

Cybersecurity is one of the most immediate concerns. Advanced models can identify vulnerabilities, write malicious code and assist with different stages of a cyberattack. The same capabilities can also be used defensively to identify and repair security weaknesses, making cybersecurity an example of how improvements in AI can create both benefits and new risks.

Biological and chemical risks are another area of concern. AI systems can provide increasingly detailed scientific information and assist with experimental planning and technical problems. This could accelerate legitimate research, but sufficiently capable systems could also lower the level of expertise required to develop biological or chemical threats.

A more uncertain risk concerns increasingly autonomous systems. AI agents can already carry out longer tasks without continuous human supervision, which reduces the opportunities for people to intervene when something goes wrong. Researchers are also studying whether future systems could evade monitoring, undermine safeguards or assist with the development of more capable AI. Current systems are not considered capable of causing a broader loss of human control, but increasing autonomy has made this an important area of safety research.

These risks are difficult to manage because many of the same capabilities also have legitimate uses. Individual developers have introduced their own systems for testing and controlling increasingly capable models. These safeguards, however, operate within a competitive international environment in which companies and governments have strong interests in developing more capable systems, creating pressure to continue advancing the technology even as new risks emerge.

The Competitive Landscape

Artificial intelligence is developed through an international network of technology companies, chipmakers and data centres. At the centre are companies building the models themselves. OpenAI, Anthropic, Google, Meta and xAI are among the leading developers in the United States, while DeepSeek, Alibaba, ByteDance and Tencent have built a large and competitive market in China. This makes the United States and China the two main centres of frontier AI development.

Building these systems requires large amounts of computing power. Nvidia designs many of the advanced processors used for AI, but the production behind them extends across several countries. TSMC in Taiwan manufactures many of the leading chips, ASML in the Netherlands supplies important equipment used to produce them, while SK Hynix and Samsung in South Korea provide the advanced memory needed for AI computing.

Competition therefore starts between companies, but it does not end there. AI is becoming increasingly important for scientific research, industrial production, robotics, cyber capabilities and military systems. Governments consequently have their own interest in how quickly the technology develops and which countries have access to the most capable systems.

This creates two connected levels of competition. Companies compete to develop more capable AI, while countries compete over the economic and strategic advantages that the technology could provide. A government can introduce rules for companies operating within its own country, but those rules do not apply elsewhere. Any broader attempt to slow AI development therefore depends not only on regulating companies, but also on cooperation between the countries developing the technology.

Different Approaches to AI Security

The United States, China and Europe have all introduced measures to manage the risks associated with artificial intelligence, but they differ in how these controls are applied.

In the United States, much of the development of frontier AI remains in the hands of private companies. Developers including OpenAI and Anthropic conduct their own safety testing and can restrict the release of systems they consider dangerous. The federal government has also developed standards for testing AI systems and evaluates risks related to areas such as cybersecurity, biological threats and national security. The Trump administration has, however, opposed broader regulation that could significantly slow the development of new models.

Frontier AI development is less concentrated in Europe than in the United States and China, but Europe has moved further towards formal regulation. The European Union's AI Act establishes legal requirements according to the risks created by different AI systems. Developers of the most capable general-purpose models can be required to evaluate their systems, reduce identified risks, report serious incidents and maintain cybersecurity protections.

China combines continued investment in AI with stronger government oversight. Regulations already cover generative AI services, algorithms, data and generated content. Chinese authorities have also begun to address risks associated with increasingly capable systems. President Xi Jinping has called for stronger monitoring, early-warning systems and emergency responses and has stated that artificial intelligence should remain secure, controllable and under human supervision.

International cooperation has developed alongside these national approaches. The United Nations established a Global Dialogue on AI Governance and an Independent International Scientific Panel on Artificial Intelligence in 2025. The G7 has developed principles and a voluntary code for advanced AI systems, while international AI summits have brought governments together around areas such as model testing, risk assessment and the safe development of frontier systems.

These mechanisms do not have the authority to restrict how individual countries develop AI. International controls therefore depend on governments agreeing on common measures and applying them within their own jurisdictions.

The United States and China have nevertheless discussed areas where cooperation is possible. These include common testing standards, information sharing on serious incidents and safeguards against cyberattacks, biological misuse and loss of control. US and Chinese officials have already discussed some of these issues through unofficial channels, while further government talks on AI safety have been under preparation.

A broader agreement to slow frontier development is more difficult. Amodei has argued that American companies could slow development only if the United States maintains a sufficient lead over China, and has proposed tighter restrictions on China's access to advanced chips, semiconductor equipment and AI technology. China supports international AI governance but opposes restrictions that it considers an attempt to preserve American technological dominance.

This leaves both countries with common concerns over AI security but different interests in how restrictions are applied. Any broader agreement would require both sides to accept limits on development and confidence that those limits were being followed.

The Race for AI

The competition in artificial intelligence does not have a single measure of success. More capable systems could increase productivity, accelerate scientific research and support industrial automation, while also improving intelligence analysis, cyber capabilities and military systems. Leadership in AI could therefore strengthen several sources of economic and strategic power at the same time.

For the United States, this is connected to its existing position in the global technology industry. American companies develop many of the most capable AI models and control important parts of the computing and cloud infrastructure used internationally. Maintaining this position could support American economic competitiveness, military capabilities and influence over the technologies and standards adopted by other countries.

China has different but overlapping interests. AI is being integrated into manufacturing, robotics, healthcare, transport and scientific research, while automation could help increase productivity as the country's working-age population declines. Developing domestic models, processors and computing infrastructure also reduces China's dependence on foreign technology and could strengthen its position in relation to the United States.

These advantages can extend beyond the two countries themselves. AI systems, computing infrastructure and related technologies can be supplied to other countries and incorporated into their economies, communications networks and security systems. Technological leadership can therefore create wider geopolitical influence as countries become more dependent on technology developed in the United States or China.

The competition becomes more difficult to assess at the frontier of AI development. Current systems are improving gradually, but some researchers expect increasingly capable models to begin performing larger parts of scientific research, software development and AI development itself. This has created concern that a country reaching much more capable artificial intelligence first could use that advantage to accelerate further development.

This possibility is often discussed in relation to artificial general intelligence, or AGI. There is no agreed definition of when AGI would be reached or evidence that the first country to develop it would permanently dominate others. The stronger argument is that sufficiently capable systems could provide a temporary but potentially important advantage in research, cyber operations, intelligence, military technology and economic development. How large or durable that advantage would be remains uncertain.

This uncertainty is part of what makes an agreement to slow development difficult. If both the United States and China restricted frontier development at the same time, some of the risks could be reduced. Neither country, however, can easily know whether the other is observing the same restrictions or continuing development privately. A country that slowed while its competitor continued could instead increase the technological gap it was trying to prevent.

The same problem applies to the conditions surrounding an agreement. American proposals to restrict China's access to advanced processors and semiconductor technology are intended partly to preserve the US technological advantage. From China's perspective, restrictions of this kind can also preserve an existing American lead rather than create equal conditions for AI safety. From the American perspective, allowing China unrestricted access to the computing technology needed for frontier development makes slowing American companies more difficult.

The disagreement is therefore not simply about whether advanced AI could become dangerous. Both countries have recognised serious risks. The difficulty is agreeing on restrictions while AI development could also change their economic, military and geopolitical position. The United States does not want safety measures to allow China to close its technological lead, while China does not want international controls to preserve an existing American advantage.

Conclusion

The United States and China have been preparing further discussions on AI safety, with cyber risks, information sharing and safeguards around increasingly capable systems among the areas that could be addressed. These discussions could establish practical measures where both countries have an interest in reducing the possibility of serious misuse or loss of control.

A broader agreement to slow AI development would be considerably more difficult. Artificial intelligence is becoming connected not only to economic growth, but also to scientific capability, military power and international influence. Neither country wants to accept restrictions that could leave it at a strategic disadvantage if the other continues to develop more capable systems.

The current debate therefore involves two concerns at the same time. Governments and technology companies are increasingly considering how to control the risks created by advanced AI, while the United States and China continue to compete over the advantages the same technology could provide. Any meaningful agreement on slowing development would have to address both.

Production note: This article was developed and directed by the author, with AI assistance used for research, source verification, structuring and editing. The argument, selection of examples and final editorial decisions were made by the author. All images are AI-generated.

The party’s growth has produced sharply different interpretations. Critics point to radical representatives, controversial positions and the classification of several AfD state associations by domestic intelligence authorities. Supporters view its rise as a democratic response to dissatisfaction with migration policy, economic conditions and established parties they believe no longer represent substantial parts of the electorate. This division is reflected in debates over whether the AfD should remain politically isolated, be treated as a conventional competitor or face examination under Germany’s constitutional mechanisms.

While this debate continues, the AfD has spent more than a decade developing parliamentary experience, political personnel, local organisations and wider networks. The election in Saxony-Anhalt could now give the party its first opportunity to convert electoral support into government responsibility and direct state institutions.

From Parliamentary Opposition to State Government

The AfD was founded in 2013 during the European sovereign debt crisis. It initially emerged as a conservative and economically liberal challenge to the management of the euro, but narrowly failed to enter the Bundestag in its first federal election.

The party changed considerably during the following years. Migration became its central issue after the refugee crisis of 2015, while questions of national identity, European integration and Germany’s political direction gained greater importance.

In 2017, the AfD entered the Bundestag for the first time. It has since become established across federal, state and municipal politics, with particularly strong support in eastern Germany. At the 2025 federal election, it received 20.8% of the vote and became the second-largest party in the Bundestag. Its national support has continued to grow, while polling in several eastern states has placed it considerably higher.

Electoral growth has not yet produced executive power. Germany’s other major parties continue to reject coalitions with the AfD under the political boundary commonly described as the Brandmauer, or firewall. Its opponents consider this separation necessary because of radical positions and doubts about parts of the party’s relationship with the constitutional order.

The effects of this strategy remain contested. It has prevented the AfD from entering government, but it has also required established parties with substantially different programmes to cooperate in increasingly broad coalitions. The AfD uses these arrangements to support its claim that the traditional parties ultimately form a single political establishment. Whether the Brandmauer has limited the party or contributed to its anti-establishment appeal is now part of the wider political debate, including within the CDU.

A separate discussion concerns whether the AfD should be prohibited. In 2025, Germany’s federal domestic intelligence service classified the national party as confirmed right-wing extremist. The AfD appealed, and a court suspended the classification in February 2026 while the case continues. Its Saxony-Anhalt branch remains separately classified as confirmed right-wing extremist by the state intelligence authority. These classifications do not themselves prohibit the party. A prohibition would require separate proceedings before the Federal Constitutional Court and would have to meet a high legal threshold. Supporters of such a procedure argue that democratic institutions must be protected from forces seeking to weaken them. Opponents question whether prohibiting a party with support from a substantial part of the electorate would be legally successful or politically effective.

The result is a party that is firmly established inside Germany’s parliamentary system but remains outside its governments. It has gained experience in opposition, developed political organisations and expanded its personnel without having to take responsibility for running a state administration. Saxony-Anhalt could now bring that phase to an end.

Why Saxony-Anhalt Matters

The AfD has already achieved major electoral results in eastern Germany. In 2024, it became the largest party in Thuringia and finished narrowly behind the CDU in Saxony. It also received almost 30% of the vote in Brandenburg. These results strengthened the party’s position inside the state parliaments but did not bring it into government.

The results nevertheless gave the party greater institutional influence. Its parliamentary groups receive public funding, employ political and legal advisers, participate in specialist committees and use parliamentary inquiries to examine the work of state governments. In Thuringia and Brandenburg, the AfD also holds more than one-third of the parliamentary seats. This allows it to block certain institutional decisions, but not to set government policy or direct state ministries.

Saxony-Anhalt could represent the next stage. Polling places the AfD at around 40%, substantially ahead of the CDU and the remaining parties. Germany’s five-percent electoral threshold means that votes cast for parties that fail to enter parliament are not reflected in the distribution of seats. If several smaller parties remain below that threshold, the AfD could potentially obtain an absolute majority of seats without receiving more than half of all votes.

Such a result would allow it to move around the "Brandmauer" rather than negotiate through it. With an absolute majority in the state parliament, the AfD could elect the minister-president, form the government of Saxony-Anhalt without a coalition partner and appoint the political leadership of the state’s ministries.

The difference would be most visible in education, culture and domestic administration, where Germany’s states hold substantial authority. A government in Magdeburg could influence school curricula, teacher policy, historical education and the distribution of funding to universities, museums, theatres and cultural organisations. These are also areas in which the AfD has been particularly critical of the political and cultural direction established during recent decades.

The Interior Ministry would provide another important area of authority. Its political leadership sets priorities for the state police, migration administration and the state Office for the Protection of the Constitution. Ministers could not simply remove the permanent civil service or operate outside the law, but they would supervise the institutions responsible for implementing policy within Saxony-Anhalt.

The AfD also proposes changing the structure of public broadcasting. It has announced that it would terminate the broadcasting treaties applying to Saxony-Anhalt, seek to abolish the compulsory household contribution and reduce public broadcasting to a smaller basic service. A government in Magdeburg could not determine the programming of MDR directly or restructure the joint broadcaster alone, but it could use the state’s position within the treaty system to challenge how public broadcasting is organised and financed.

The party’s influence would also extend beyond Saxony-Anhalt through the Bundesrat, where state governments participate in federal legislation. One state could not determine national policy, but an AfD government would give the party its first direct position within this part of the federal system.

For the AfD, this would make Saxony-Anhalt more than an individual state government. It would provide the party with its first opportunity to apply parts of its programme through ministries and state institutions, particularly in migration administration, education, culture and public broadcasting. It would also allow its politicians and advisers to gain experience in running an administration and to present Saxony-Anhalt as an example of how the party governs when it holds executive responsibility.

This has wider significance because the AfD already has substantial support in Thuringia, Brandenburg, Saxony and other parts of Germany, while its position has also strengthened at federal level. The party views government in Saxony-Anhalt as a possible starting point for further institutional expansion. Other parties are concerned that an AfD-led state could weaken the Brandmauer, provide the party with a governing record and create additional momentum before future state and federal elections.

The importance of Saxony-Anhalt therefore lies not only in the authority the AfD could exercise within the state, but also in the example it could create beyond it. Whether the party can establish such a model depends on the personnel, administrative knowledge and institutional structures it has developed.

Preparing for Government

A parliamentary majority would give the AfD access to government, but it would also create an immediate organisational challenge. The ministries and their permanent civil servants would remain in place, but the party would need ministers and could appoint its own state secretaries, advisers and political staff to direct the existing administration.

Germany’s established parties have developed this personnel over decades. Their organisations extend from municipal councils and state parliaments to the Bundestag, while their youth organisations and affiliated foundations provide further routes into political work. Experience moves between party offices, parliamentary groups, ministries, universities, trade unions and business organisations. This gives established parties a large network from which to recruit when they enter government.

The AfD began without a comparable structure. Its rapid electoral growth created parliamentary positions and access to public resources, but it also produced a continuing need for qualified staff. Experience gained in opposition does not necessarily prepare a politician or adviser to manage a ministry, supervise a budget or coordinate the implementation of policy across an administration.

The party has increasingly attempted to close this gap. According to recent reporting, it has created strategy groups, assembled a pool of potential personnel and developed training programmes for work in ministries, public authorities and senior political offices. Academies in Berlin and Thuringia, with another planned in Brandenburg, are reported to offer training in what the party describes as Staatssteuerung—the management and direction of the state. The party has also sought experience from Austria’s Freedom Party, which has previously participated in national and regional governments.

The AfD can draw on more than a decade of parliamentary development. Its members and employees now include lawyers, economists, researchers and municipal politicians with experience in legislation and public administration. The party-affiliated Desiderius Erasmus Foundation provides political education and contributes to the wider intellectual environment around the party, although it remains legally separate from the AfD.

Important limitations remain. The party has never managed an entire state government, and reports about its preparations continue to identify shortages of suitable personnel. A small group of experienced politicians may be sufficient to lead an opposition party, but government requires qualified people across several ministries and hundreds of political and administrative functions. The permanent civil service would continue to carry out much of the daily work, while the new political leadership would need to understand and direct an administration it had previously criticised from outside.

The AfD’s preparations therefore reflect both its growing ambition and the difficulty of converting electoral momentum into institutional capacity. It is attempting to create the personnel and structures that Germany’s older parties accumulated over several generations. This development also has a historical parallel. Earlier political movements in the Federal Republic learned that lasting change depended not only on protest or electoral success, but on establishing a sustained presence inside the institutions that shaped political and cultural life.

The Earlier March Through the Institutions

The AfD’s preparation for government represents more than a response to one state election. It reflects the recognition that political movements achieve lasting influence when they develop people and organisations capable of working within institutions. In the history of the Federal Republic, this form of change is most closely associated with the generation of 1968.

The movement emerged in a West Germany that had established democratic institutions after the Second World War but retained elements of its earlier social and professional order. Former members of the National Socialist system continued to hold positions in parts of the civil service, judiciary, universities and business. A younger generation increasingly questioned this continuity and what it regarded as the country’s limited confrontation with its past.

The protests also extended to the Vietnam War, traditional authority and established attitudes towards family, gender and social behaviour. The movement contained different political groups and did not follow one common strategy. Some pursued revolutionary ideas, while others increasingly looked towards change through the existing democratic system.

Rudi Dutschke described this approach as a long march through the institutions. The idea was that protest alone would not permanently change society. Political influence would also require people to enter parties, universities, schools, media, law and public administration.

This process developed gradually rather than through a centrally organised campaign. Members of the wider generation became politicians, teachers, professors, journalists, lawyers and civil servants. Their ideas entered institutions through generational change, wider social developments and political reform.

The Green Party became one political expression of this transformation. Founded in 1980, it brought together environmental groups, peace activists, feminists and parts of the extra-parliamentary left. It later entered state governments and, in 1998, the federal government.

Over time, ideas that had once challenged the postwar establishment gained a stronger position within German politics and public institutions. This included a more critical engagement with National Socialism, environmentalism, changing gender roles and more liberal approaches to society and national identity.

The meaning of this development remains contested. Supporters associate it with democratisation and social openness. Critics argue that the movement’s ideas became dominant within parts of education, culture and the media, creating a new establishment that became less receptive to conservative positions.

The AfD defines itself against several aspects of this political and cultural development. Its current institutional expansion can therefore be understood not only as preparation for government, but as an attempt to challenge parts of the order that developed after 1968.

Conclusion

The election in Saxony-Anhalt represents a possible transition in the development of the AfD. The party has already established itself across Germany’s parliamentary system, but it has not yet carried responsibility for governing a federal state. An absolute majority would provide access to ministries and policy areas including education, culture, migration administration and public broadcasting.

The AfD has been preparing for this possibility by developing political personnel, training programmes and wider organisational structures. At the same time, its rapid electoral growth has created questions about whether it has enough experienced people to manage a state administration.

The comparison with the generation of 1968 does not place the two movements on the same political or historical level. It illustrates how movements seeking lasting change eventually turn towards institutions. The 1968 generation influenced the Federal Republic over several decades through politics, education, media and culture. The AfD is now building institutional capacity partly to challenge the order that followed.

Saxony-Anhalt could provide the first indication of how far that development has progressed. The election will measure the party’s electoral support. What follows will show whether it can translate that support into lasting institutional influence.

Production note: This article was developed and directed by the author, with AI assistance used for research, source verification, structuring and editing. The argument, selection of examples and final editorial decisions were made by the author. All images are non-AI-generated and sourced from Alamy.

For this project, the customer provided Porsche with a 2018 Porsche 911 GT2 RS. The request was to give the car the flat-fronted design of the historic Porsche 935 racing car and improve its performance without changing the engine. The finished car also had to remain legal for road use.

The project took almost three years and involved Porsche’s design, engineering and motorsport teams, together with aerodynamics and performance specialist Manthey.

History — From the Porsche 935 to the Flachbau

The design of the Flachbau RS goes back to the Porsche 935, introduced in 1976 as a racing version of the 911 Turbo. The rules of its racing class allowed Porsche to make extensive changes to the bodywork. Porsche therefore replaced the front wings and round headlights with a lower front that improved the car’s aerodynamics.

The shape became known as Flachbau, the German term for “flat construction.” Over the following years, the 935 became one of Porsche’s most successful endurance racing cars, with victories at Daytona, Sebring and Le Mans.

A longer version developed for the 1978 season was nicknamed “Moby Dick” because of its shape and white body. The car won the Six Hours of Silverstone.

Its racing success and unusual appearance created demand among Porsche customers. During the 1980s, Porsche began offering a road-going Flachbau version of the 911 Turbo. By the end of production in 1989, Porsche had sold almost 1,000 examples.

The Commission — Rebuilding a 2018 GT2 RS

For the new Sonderwunsch project, the customer brought Porsche a nearly new GT2 RS from their own collection. The aim was not simply to recreate an earlier Flachbau, but to apply the same design to a modern car.

The customer also wanted to improve its performance and add a rear wing inspired by the 911 GT3 R rennsport. At the same time, the finished car had to remain fully legal for road use.

With the engine and transmission left unchanged, the project focused on the design, aerodynamics and weight of the car. Porsche brought together its Sonderwunsch team, Style Porsche, Porsche Motorsport and engineers from Weissach, along with the specialists at Manthey.

Grant Larson led the design work. He had also designed the modern Porsche 935 presented in 2018, which served as an important reference for the new Flachbau RS.

Developing and Testing the Flachbau RS

Development began with the front of the car. To create the Flachbau shape, Porsche designed new front wings with openings that release pressure from the wheel arches. The lower profile also required a new front bumper and changes to the fuel-filler cover, which no longer fitted within the altered wing.

The round headlights of the GT2 RS created another challenge. There was not enough space for them inside the lower front, so Porsche developed a new lighting system using narrow LED units. The lights for dipped beam, high beam and daytime running are arranged above one another within the bodywork.

Porsche also changed the aerodynamics around and underneath the car. The new front splitter works together with parts based on the Manthey Kit, including changes to the underbody and rear diffuser. Carbon-fibre covers were added to the rear wheels to reduce drag.

At the rear, Porsche developed a large wing with S-shaped supports. Its design was inspired by the 911 GT3 R rennsport, but it was adapted for the shape and performance requirements of the Flachbau RS. The wing sits around five centimetres higher and can be moved between three positions, allowing the aerodynamic setup to be changed for different circuits.

Before producing the new parts, Porsche checked the complete design digitally. Engineers examined how the changed bodywork would affect the structure and airbag system. They also calculated the forces placed on the rear wing and studied the airflow around the car.

Once the design had passed these checks, Porsche produced new tools to manufacture the individual components. The new wings, bumper and other body parts were developed specifically for the Flachbau RS rather than taken from another Porsche model.

The development programme also included extensive physical testing. The lighting system was tested for road approval, while the aerodynamics were developed further in a wind tunnel.

The rear wing underwent vibration and load testing to confirm that it could withstand long-term road and circuit use. Porsche also tested the cars at its facilities in Weissach, at Mendig airfield and on the Nürburgring Nordschleife.

The testing programme included more than 1,000 kilometres and 50 performance laps on the Nordschleife. According to Porsche, test driver Lars Kern completed several laps in under seven minutes. He reported that the redesigned car remained stable and precise at very high speeds.

For the final exterior, Porsche finished the car in Grand Prix White, a colour first offered during the 1970s. To recreate the shade, Porsche used a historic 911 from its own collection as a reference and measured its paintwork. The white body is combined with matte-black sections and exposed carbon, including a U-shaped element at the front inspired by the “Moby Dick” racing car.

Weight was also reduced inside the car. Porsche retained the red Alcantara, black leather and carbon around the driver and passenger but removed the infotainment and audio systems. Sections of the carpeting, insulation, trim and wiring were also taken out.

The infotainment display was replaced by a leather-covered storage compartment. Equipment required for road use, including the warning triangle and towing eye, was placed inside a removable Emergency Box. The owner can remove the complete box before using the car on a circuit.

The carbon bucket seats carry “Flachbau RS” lettering and an embroidered outline of the Nürburgring. A plaque on the passenger side identifies the car as “Factory One-Off 2026 | Flachbau RS.

The Completed Flachbau RS

After almost three years of development, Porsche completed the Flachbau RS in 2026. The finished car was presented publicly at Monterey Car Week in August. Porsche has not stated when it was handed over to the customer.

The original 3.8-litre twin-turbo engine, seven-speed PDK transmission and output of 700 PS remain unchanged. Performance was instead improved through lower weight and revised aerodynamics.

The completed car is 31.6 kilograms lighter than the original GT2 RS with the Weissach package. Porsche also reports between two and three per cent more rear downforce than a GT2 RS with a comparable Manthey setup, depending on the position of the rear wing.

At its maximum speed of 340 km/h, the Flachbau RS produces 554 kilograms of rear downforce in the high-downforce setting.

The Flachbau RS remains a single car developed for its original customer. Porsche has disclosed neither the price of the project nor the identity of the owner.

The project shows how far a Sonderwunsch commission can extend beyond individual colours and materials. In this case, Porsche designed and manufactured new components, tested the redesigned car and completed the project with full road approval.

Source: Porsche Newsroom

Production note: This article was developed and directed by the author, with AI assistance used for research, source verification, structuring and editing. The argument, selection of examples and final editorial decisions were made by the author. All images are non-AI-generated and sourced from Porsche Newsroom.

As its role grows, the question is no longer simply whether the technology is being used, but how much it contributes to the final product or service. That difference is not always visible to the customer, while companies and platforms are already beginning to introduce labels, disclosure systems and other ways of identifying its use.

This article looks at how certification already works in other industries, how similar systems are beginning to develop around AI, and how they could evolve as its role in production expands. It also examines what greater transparency could mean for pricing, market positioning and consumer choice.

AI Is Already Part of Production

AI has moved quickly from being a separate tool to becoming part of the normal production process. This is easiest to see in digital products, where generative systems can now create text, images, music and video with very different levels of human involvement.

Music gives a clear indication of the scale. The music-streaming platform Deezer reported in July 2026 that it was receiving around 90,000 fully AI-generated tracks every day. At peak periods, they represented more than half of all new music uploaded to the platform. Fully AI-generated tracks still accounted for only around 1–3% of listening.

The change is also visible across advertising and other creative work. AI-generated text, images and video are now routinely used for social media, online advertising and commercial content. Canva's 2026 marketing study found that 97% of marketing leaders surveyed were already using AI in their daily creative work. Adobe reported a similar development among creators, with 75% describing creative AI as integrated or essential to how they work

AI is also being integrated into work that customers rarely see directly. Companies use it for research, administration, software development, customer service and other internal processes. In manufacturing, it can support areas such as quality control, maintenance and supply-chain management. AI involvement is therefore no longer limited to products that are obviously generated by AI; it can also sit behind an otherwise conventional product or service.

This makes the extent of AI involvement increasingly difficult to describe with a simple yes or no. A product or service can involve the technology at very different stages and to very different degrees. A song, for example, may still be written and performed by a musician while automated tools are used only for part of the production. In other cases, much more of the final output may be generated with limited human involvement.

The question is how these differences can be made visible and understandable to consumers. Other industries already use certification and disclosure systems for exactly this purpose.

How Certification Works in Other Industries

Markets already use certification and disclosure systems to make production characteristics visible when consumers cannot easily verify them themselves.

Fairtrade is one example. Producers and companies have to meet defined standards, provide the required documentation and undergo independent checks. Certification is audited by FLOCERT, and any problems identified during an audit have to be addressed before certification can be granted or maintained. Certified organisations also remain subject to later controls.

The consumer does not have to inspect the supply chain personally. The purpose of the certification is to provide an independent check.

Globalisation provides one of the clearest examples of how production and consumer preferences can change. As trade expanded, companies were able to import more products from overseas and move parts of production to countries where costs were lower. This made many goods cheaper and increased the range available to consumers.

At the same time, it increased pressure on some domestic producers and contributed to the decline of local production in certain industries. Part of the consumer response has been a stronger interest in locally and regionally produced goods and in supporting producers closer to home.

In some markets, this also led to more formal ways of verifying regional origin. In Germany, the Regionalfenster is a voluntary regional-labelling programme that shows where the main ingredients come from and where the product was processed. The information is independently checked, giving consumers a clearer basis for identifying products that genuinely come from the stated region.

Halal certification provides a different example of the same principle. While regional labels verify where a product comes from, halal certification verifies how it was produced. A consumer cannot determine simply by looking at the finished product whether the required halal standards were followed, so compliance has to be established through defined requirements, documentation and independent audits. For producers, this means meeting the relevant standards and being certified by a recognised body before the product can be presented as halal.

In some markets, certification also has a regulatory role. Saudi Arabia, for example, requires relevant imported halal products to be certified by bodies recognised by the authorities. Certification therefore goes beyond providing information to the consumer and can also become a condition for entering the market.

These examples show that certification can operate at different levels. It can verify where a product comes from, how it was produced or whether certain requirements have been met, while governments can also determine which standards or certification bodies are recognised and, in some cases, what requirements must be met for a product to enter the market.

From AI Disclosure to Certification

AI is already beginning to enter similar systems of disclosure and verification.

Deezer detects fully AI-generated music and labels it on its platform. Its detection technology is also being made available to other organisations in the music industry.

Spotify has taken a broader approach. In 2026, it introduced AI Credits, which allow artists to disclose how AI was used in the creation of a song, while new AI Persona labels are being introduced for artist identities that are generated rather than represented by a real person.

The Coalition for Content Provenance and Authenticity, or C2PA, brings together companies including Adobe, Amazon, BBC, Google, Meta, Microsoft, OpenAI and Sony. Its Content Credentials system can record information about the production history of digital content, including whether AI was involved. This allows different companies and platforms to work with a common framework. Instead of each platform creating its own separate way of recording how content was produced, information can travel with the digital material itself.

Other approaches focus on different parts of AI use. Fairly Trained looks at how training data has been licensed, while ISO/IEC 42001 focuses on how companies manage and govern AI.

At government level, similar rules are also beginning to appear. Under the EU AI Act, certain AI-generated or manipulated content now has to be marked or disclosed, while users must also be informed in certain cases when they are interacting directly with AI.

These systems therefore already cover several aspects of AI use, from identifying generated content to recording how it was produced and examining how companies manage the technology. What remains less developed is a common way of showing the degree of involvement in the final product or service.

Pricing and Consumer Choice

A more standardised system would give businesses and consumers a clearer basis for comparison. Companies could use common definitions when describing how AI is involved in their products or services, while platforms and business customers could use the same information when comparing suppliers.

For consumers, the benefit would be more straightforward. They would not need to understand every tool used during production. A recognised standard could instead provide a clearer indication of how a product or service was made.

Once this information becomes visible, it can also influence how companies position themselves. A business that automates a large part of its production may be able to operate more quickly and at lower cost. Another may deliberately retain greater human involvement and make this part of what the customer is paying for.

Similar choices already exist in other markets. Global sourcing can lower costs through larger production volumes, cheaper raw materials or lower labour costs, while locally produced alternatives may be more expensive. Some consumers are nevertheless willing to pay more because they value origin or want to support domestic production. Research among Italian consumers on Made in Italy products found a stated willingness to pay premiums across food, fashion and furnishings, most commonly between 10% and 30%.

Fairtrade shows a similar effect around production conditions rather than origin. Research on Fairtrade chocolate has found a measurable willingness among consumers to pay more for certification. These preferences do not always translate into actual purchases, however, and certified products can still account for a small part of the wider market.

Consumer preferences can also influence what companies decide to sell. Environmental concerns provide one example. Aldi Nord and Aldi Süd in Germany stopped using Brazilian beef in new fresh and frozen meat supply contracts from 2022, citing deforestation risks and difficulties in tracing the supply chain. The companies also referred to growing demand for domestic and regional meat. A potentially cheaper source can therefore lose part of a market when other characteristics of production become important to retailers and their customers.

AI could create a similar form of segmentation. One marketing company may automate much of its copy, imagery and video production and compete through speed and lower prices. Another may continue to employ writers, photographers, designers and strategists throughout the process, making greater human involvement part of its positioning.

A certification system could make that difference visible. Companies could use it to describe how their products or services are produced, while consumers and business customers could decide whether the level of AI involvement affects what they are willing to pay.

Conclusion

AI is becoming a normal part of production, but the level of involvement can vary considerably between products, services and companies. In some cases, it remains a supporting tool, while in others it carries out a much larger share of the work.

That difference is not always visible to the customer. Certification and disclosure could provide a clearer indication of how a product or service was produced, similar to existing systems for origin, production methods, environmental standards or labour practices.

Parts of this are already beginning to develop through platform labels, technical standards, independent certification and government rules. What is still missing is a more common way of showing the degree of AI involvement in the final product or service.

Whether such a distinction becomes commercially important will ultimately depend on consumers. Some may prefer cheaper and more automated products, while others may place greater value on human involvement and be willing to pay more for it. The same consumer may also value that distinction in one category but care very little about it in another.

Certification would not determine which model is better. It would simply make the difference visible and allow consumers to decide what matters to them.

Production note: This article was developed and directed by the author, with AI assistance used for research, source verification, structuring and editing. The argument, selection of examples and final editorial decisions were made by the author. All images are non-AI-generated and sourced from Shutterstock.

The Rhine is particularly important because it connects major European ports with some of the continent's largest chemical, steel and petrochemical production sites. The infrastructure along the river supports industrial supply chains that extend from bulk raw materials to more specialized manufacturing.

This article examines how this industrial network depends on the Rhine, what happens when low water restricts its operation, and how companies and policymakers are adapting infrastructure and logistics to recurring droughts.

The Rhine as an Industrial Transport Corridor

The Rhine connects some of Europe's largest seaports, including Rotterdam and Antwerp, with major industrial regions in Germany, France and Switzerland. Raw materials arriving at these ports are transported inland to steel producers, chemical companies, refineries and other industrial facilities. After processing, finished products are distributed across Europe or exported to international markets through a combination of inland shipping, rail, road and pipelines.

Much of this trade consists of bulk commodities, including petroleum products, chemicals, iron ore, steel, coal, coke, agricultural commodities and construction materials.

Inland waterways are particularly important for transporting these goods because of the large quantities that can be moved at once. A typical inland vessel can carry around 2,000 tonnes of cargo, compared with approximately 1,200 to 1,500 tonnes for a dedicated freight train, while a single tank container transported by road or rail carries around 25 tonnes.

BASF illustrates the scale of these industrial supply chains. Located in Ludwigshafen, the company's site stretches for around 10 kilometres along the Rhine and is the world's largest integrated chemical complex. The site operates three company-owned harbours, where an average of around twelve inland vessels dock each day.

BASF itself describes the Rhine as the site's “supply artery” and its most important transport route for large quantities of goods. According to Andreas Backhaus, Head of European Site Logistics at BASF, “If there are any issues here, it affects the whole site.”

The Rhine also supports one of Europe's largest petrochemical corridors, relying on a dual-transport network of underground pipelines and river barges. Crude oil and volatile feedstocks move continuously via pipelines from seaports to inland refineries and chemical complexes. Once processed into fuels and industrial chemicals, specialized river barges and overland transport deliver these finished products to industrial parks and markets across Europe

Further north, Duisburg is home to Europe's largest inland port and one of the continent's largest steel production clusters. Thyssenkrupp Steel's Schwelgern plant port alone handles around 20 million tonnes of raw materials each year, primarily iron ore and coking coal. Large quantities of these raw materials are transported along the Rhine to supply the company's Duisburg steelworks. Finished steel is then distributed through the region's rail, road and inland waterway networks.

The scale of the industrial infrastructure along the Rhine highlights the importance of the river for industrial logistics. While companies such as BASF and Thyssenkrupp have reduced parts of their German operations due to high energy costs and international competition, both continue to invest in their major Rhine sites. BASF is reducing some energy-intensive production in Ludwigshafen while expanding more specialized products, including semiconductor-grade sulfuric acid. Thyssenkrupp is reducing steel capacity in Duisburg while investing in a new direct-reduction plant designed for future hydrogen-based steel production.

These investments mean that both sites will continue to require large quantities of raw materials and the transport infrastructure needed to supply them.

The Impact of Low Water Levels

Recurring droughts have significantly reduced water levels along parts of the Rhine and Danube, creating difficulties for industries and infrastructure to operate at normal capacity. Power plants along the Danube in Romania and Hungary have been forced to operate at reduced capacity, while production facilities along the Rhine received less raw material for manufacturing.

While power plants require sufficient river water for cooling, inland shipping faces a different challenge. Lower water levels prevent vessels from loading their usual cargo, forcing them to operate with only a fraction of their normal capacity. As a result, more vessels are required to transport the same amount of raw materials and products, increasing transport costs and reducing the efficiency of industrial supply chains.

The economic effects can also continue beyond the period of low water itself. A RETHINK-GSC study examining the 2018 low-water period found that exports transported on German inland waterways fell by nearly 20 percent, while imports declined by 12 percent. Companies that depended on inland shipping for imported materials also recorded an export decline of around 4 percent, regardless of how those exports were transported.

Companies also adjusted their logistics after water levels returned to normal. The study found a continued shift from inland waterways towards rail and road transport, particularly for time-sensitive goods such as chemicals and other intermediate inputs. According to study author Saskia Meuchelböck, “Even temporary disruptions can have lasting effects on firms’ sourcing strategies.”

Policy institutions and transport experts increasingly classify inland waterways as part of Europe's critical infrastructure. The Rhine illustrates this importance, supporting both the movement of bulk commodities and more specialized supply chains, including BASF's semiconductor-grade chemical production. Recurring periods of low water have therefore increased the focus on how this infrastructure can be adapted to future disruptions.

Adapting to Recurring Droughts

Repeated low-water periods, particularly the severe drought of 2018, have led companies and policymakers to strengthen their preparation for future disruptions. Companies along the Rhine have adapted their logistics over several years. During the current drought, BASF is using specialized low-draft vessels that can continue operating at very low water levels. Covestro has increased raw-material stocks and shifted to lower-draft vessels, while Thyssenkrupp has chartered shallower vessels that can sail when its own deeper-draft barges cannot. However, the current drought shows that these measures cannot prevent all disruptions.

Preparation for low-water periods is also taking place at the public level. Germany launched its national Low Water Information System (NIWIS) in July 2026. The platform combines daily information on river levels, groundwater and soil moisture from federal and state sources, giving companies and authorities additional information to prepare for periods of low water.

At the European level, the response covers the broader issue of water resilience. The EU's Water Resilience Strategy includes measures addressing water scarcity and drought. According to the Commission's action tracker, the EIB Water Programme and Sustainable Water Advisory Facility have been launched, alongside the reallocation of €3.1 billion towards water resilience. Other measures remain in progress, including new water-scarcity indicators, guidance for drought-management plans, a Water Resilience Investment Accelerator, water-retention measures and a Copernicus Water Thematic Hub. Several of these actions are scheduled through 2026 and 2027. With much of the strategy still being implemented, its wider impact on Europe's resilience to future droughts remains to be seen.

The UNECE has similarly warned that transport infrastructure will face increasing climate risks and has called for these risks to be incorporated into infrastructure planning and resilience measures.

Conclusion

Recurring droughts have highlighted the importance of Europe's inland waterways. Along the Rhine, low water affects more than shipping. The river connects major seaports with chemical producers, refineries and steel manufacturers that depend on the movement of large quantities of raw materials and products.

Continued investment at industrial sites such as Ludwigshafen and Duisburg means that the infrastructure supporting production along the Rhine remains important, even as parts of German industry are being restructured.

As periods of low water become more frequent, maintaining reliable transport and industrial infrastructure along the Rhine will remain an important part of supporting European manufacturing and trade.

FIFA has now proposed the creation of FIFA Forward Enterprise, a separate commercial company that would manage its commercial activities while allowing outside investors to acquire a minority stake. The proposal has prompted UEFA to announce a boycott of FIFA competitions if it proceeds.

This article explains FIFA's proposal, how international football is organized, and how the proposal could influence the future commercial structure of international football, including its potential implications for national football associations.

How Is International Football Organized?

International football is organized across three levels. At the highest level is FIFA, which oversees international football and organizes competitions such as the FIFA World Cup. Beneath FIFA are the six continental confederations, including UEFA in Europe, CAF in Africa, AFC in Asia, CONMEBOL in South America, Concacaf in North and Central America and the Caribbean, and OFC in Oceania. These organizations are responsible for football within their respective regions and organize continental competitions such as the UEFA European Championship, the AFC Asian Cup and the Copa América.

Each continental confederation is made up of national football associations. Every country has its own association, such as the German Football Association (DFB), The Football Association (FA) in England or the United States Soccer Federation. These associations organize football within their own countries, manage the national teams and oversee domestic competitions such as national cup tournaments.

Professional clubs, such as Real Madrid, Bayern Munich or Manchester United, operate within this system but remain separate from the national associations. They compete in domestic leagues and international club competitions throughout the season, while players are periodically released to represent their national teams in competitions organized by FIFA or the continental confederations.

How Does FIFA Operate?

Unlike professional clubs such as Liverpool or PSG, FIFA is not owned by shareholders and does not operate as a commercial company. Instead, it earns money by organizing international competitions, particularly the FIFA World Cup, and selling the commercial rights associated with these tournaments.

Television broadcasters purchase the rights to show World Cup matches to audiences around the world. Companies pay to become official FIFA partners and sponsors, giving them the right to use FIFA branding and advertise during FIFA competitions. Additional revenue is generated through ticket sales, hospitality packages for corporate guests, licensing agreements for official merchandise and other commercial rights linked to FIFA tournaments.

Rather than distributing these revenues to shareholders, FIFA uses the income to organize competitions, operate the organization and provide funding to its 211 member associations and football development programmes.

This model is not unique to football. The International Olympic Committee also operates as a non-profit governing body, generating revenue from the commercial rights of the Olympic Games before redistributing much of that income across the Olympic Movement.

Other sports operate differently. Formula One's commercial rights are owned by a private company rather than a non-profit governing body. Like other commercial businesses, its objective is to increase value for shareholders. Revenue from broadcasting rights, sponsorships, hospitality and other commercial activities is therefore used not only to operate and develop the business, but also to generate returns for investors.

What Is FIFA Proposing

FIFA is now proposing to reorganize its commercial activities through the creation of FIFA Forward Enterprise (FFE), a separate company that would manage broadcasting rights, sponsorships, licensing, hospitality and the commercial delivery of FIFA competitions.

Under the proposal, FIFA would remain the majority owner while selling a minority, non-controlling stake, reported at up to around 20 per cent, to outside investors. The proposal values the new company at approximately US$20 billion, with the aim of raising up to US$4.2 billion. FIFA would continue to govern international football and retain exclusive authority over competitions, the match calendar and all sporting and regulatory decisions.

According to FIFA, this structure would allow the organization to unlock additional capital while maintaining full control over international football. The funds raised through the sale of a minority stake would be used to increase investment in football development, while the new company would provide a more specialized structure for managing FIFA's commercial and event operations. FIFA has also proposed significantly higher development funding for its 211 member associations over future funding cycles as part of the overall package.

The proposal has, however, been met with strong opposition from UEFA. Following an emergency meeting involving its 55 national associations, UEFA announced that it would boycott FIFA competitions, including the FIFA World Cup, if FIFA proceeds with the proposal. UEFA has criticized both the consultation process and the introduction of private investment into FIFA's commercial activities. It argues that the World Cup should remain under the control of football's institutions rather than becoming part of an investment structure and has called on FIFA to abandon the proposal.

From a business perspective, outside investors generally invest with the expectation that a company will increase in value over time. In the sports industry, this often includes expanding media rights, attracting new commercial partners, growing international audiences, developing digital products, improving commercial operations and identifying additional sources of revenue.

Applied to FIFA, this does not necessarily mean fundamental changes to football itself. From an investor's perspective, however, commercial growth could come through increasing the value of existing competitions, developing additional tournaments, expanding into new markets, strengthening digital platforms or creating new commercial opportunities. Whether such strategies are ultimately pursued would remain a decision for FIFA, which under the proposal would continue to retain control over football governance and sporting decisions.

Implications for National Football Associations

The concept of separating commercial activities from football governance is not unique to FIFA. Several national football associations already operate through separate commercial entities. The German Football Association (DFB), for example, manages many of its commercial activities through DFB GmbH & Co. KG, while the governing body itself remains a non-profit association. The difference is that these commercial entities are generally owned entirely by the association rather than by outside investors.

If FIFA's model proves successful, it could provide a blueprint for other national football associations considering a similar approach. The key difference would be the introduction of outside investors into the commercial side of national football while the associations themselves would continue to oversee the sport.

For smaller associations this could, in theory, provide access to capital that would otherwise be difficult to obtain. A national team that attracts unusual international attention, for example through a successful World Cup qualification or a strong tournament performance, might seek investment to expand sponsorship, merchandise, digital media or the international promotion of the national team brand.

If adopted more widely, such a model could gradually increase the commercialization of national football. While sporting decisions could remain with the associations themselves, commercial activities surrounding national teams could become a larger focus for investment, partnerships and brand development.

This would also bring the commercial structures of international football closer to those already seen in professional club football. Many clubs already operate with private investors, listed shares or institutional ownership. If national associations were to follow a similar path, the commercial distinction between club football and international football could become less pronounced, even if their governance structures remain fundamentally different.

Conclusion

FIFA's proposal represents a significant change in how the commercial side of international football could be structured. While the organization would continue to govern the sport, the creation of FIFA Forward Enterprise would introduce outside investment into commercial activities that have traditionally been managed entirely within FIFA.

The proposal has also highlighted broader questions about the relationship between football governance and commercial investment. Whether considered at FIFA level or, potentially, by national football associations, the discussion extends beyond a single investment proposal to the future commercial organization of international football.

In the 19th century, the Prussian military theorist Carl von Clausewitz described this resistance—the gap between planning and reality—as friction.

This article examines what Clausewitz meant by friction, how the concept can be observed in business and sport, and how research in psychology may help explain why recognising different unexpected events simply as friction can be useful in practice.

What Is Friction?

Friction is a term from physics. It describes the resistance that occurs when two surfaces move against each other.

In the book On War, the Prussian military theorist Carl von Clausewitz adopted the term to describe a different kind of resistance. Rather than physical contact, he used friction to explain why execution differs from planning. Countless small events—including misunderstandings, delays, physical exhaustion, uncertainty and chance—create a constant form of resistance that makes even well-prepared plans more difficult to carry out.

More than a century later, former heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson expressed the same idea in much simpler terms:

"Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth."

Although spoken about boxing, the quote reflects the same principle: execution introduces uncertainty that planning alone cannot fully anticipate.

Rather than searching for a way to eliminate friction, Clausewitz argued that it should be expected. The challenge was not to create perfect conditions, but to continue operating despite the resistance that emerges during execution.

Today, the concept of friction continues to form part of professional military education. Institutions such as the U.S. Army War College and the National War College study Clausewitz's work to prepare officers for the uncertainty encountered during real-world operations.

Friction in Business and Sport

Any activity that involves planning, execution and changing conditions can experience friction. For that reason, the concept can also be observed in fields such as business and sport.

Business

An employee may spend several days preparing a detailed plan for an important presentation. The expectation is to arrive at the office on time, prepare the meeting and deliver the presentation to a handful of colleagues.

Reality, however, unfolds differently. Sleep is poor, the morning becomes rushed, traffic causes delays, technical problems arise and, by the time the presentation begins, the audience has grown from a handful of colleagues to the CEO, senior management and members of the board.

The original objective has not changed, but the conditions have.

Sports and Combat Sports

A fighter may spend weeks preparing for a competition. Training, recovery and strategy are carefully planned in advance.

Reality, however, unfolds differently than expected. Delays change the schedule, the warm-up does not go as planned, communication with the coach becomes more difficult, fatigue develops, the opponent adapts and the contest takes a different direction than originally anticipated.

Preparation and visualisation can help shape performance, but they cannot eliminate the uncertainty that emerges once competition begins.

These examples show that friction is not limited to military operations and can emerge across very different professional environments.

Research in psychology may help explain why recognising these different events simply as friction can be useful in practice.

Applying Friction

One practical way of applying the concept of friction is to recognise unexpected events simply as friction.

When an athlete enters an arena, the crowd may be cheering, booing, or remaining silent. Each reaction can easily become another distraction that requires interpretation and mental effort.

By labelling the crowd's reaction as friction from the beginning, the performer no longer needs to analyse what it means or how to respond to it. It is simply friction—an expected part of the environment. This frees attention to return to the original objective instead of being drawn into unnecessary interpretation. The practical situation does not change. The crowd may still cheer, boo, or remain silent. What changes is how the performer processes the event: as one expected category of friction rather than a series of separate distractions that first have to be interpreted.

Research in psychology may help explain this approach. Studies on categorisation show that labels help organise information into meaningful mental categories, while research on cognitive load and attention suggests that reducing unnecessary interpretation can help preserve attentional resources. Similar principles also appear in performance psychology, where athletes are encouraged to recognise distractions as expected parts of competition rather than allowing them to disrupt focus.

Conclusion

Clausewitz described friction as the resistance that appears once a plan meets reality. More than 180 years later, the concept remains relevant because the relationship between planning and execution has changed very little. Whether in military operations, business or sport, unexpected events continue to shape the conditions under which decisions have to be made.

Friction cannot be eliminated, but it can be expected. Recognising that reality will rarely follow the original plan shifts the focus away from creating perfect conditions and towards continuing to operate under the conditions that actually exist.

Viewed in this way, friction is more than a military concept. It provides a framework for understanding why execution becomes difficult and one possible approach to dealing with the unexpected once reality begins to diverge from the original plan.

While these are important considerations, animal handling also affects the quality and economic value of meat. Stress, injuries and contamination can reduce product quality, increase production costs and create challenges for processors, retailers and other customers throughout the supply chain.

This article examines how animal handling influences meat quality and why it is also an important economic factor in professional meat production.

The Impact of Stress

One of the most important factors affecting meat quality is stress before slaughter. Transport, loading and unloading, unfamiliar surroundings, mixing with other animals or rough handling can all increase stress levels.

While these factors affect the animal immediately, they can also influence the biological processes that determine the quality of the meat after slaughter.

When pigs experience acute stress shortly before slaughter, their bodies react by releasing stress hormones such as adrenaline. Similar to a person performing an intense sprint, the muscles rapidly use their stored energy and produce increasing amounts of lactic acid.

Under normal conditions, blood circulation would continue to supply oxygen and remove these metabolic by-products once the effort has ended. After stunning, however, blood circulation stops. The lactic acid remains in the muscle, causing the pH to fall rapidly while the muscle is still warm.

This rapid change alters the structure of the muscle proteins and reduces their ability to retain water. As a result, more water is released from the meat than under normal conditions. This condition is known as PSE (Pale, Soft, Exudative) meat. Besides losing more water, PSE meat is typically paler in colour and softer in texture than normal pork.

In cattle, the opposite problem can occur. If animals experience prolonged stress before slaughter, they gradually use up much of their stored glycogen while they are still alive. After slaughter, there is not enough glycogen left to produce the normal amount of lactic acid, so the pH remains higher than normal. The meat becomes darker, firmer and drier, a condition known as DFD (Dark, Firm, Dry) meat.

PSE meat creates several challenges for the facility. One of the first is increased water loss during chilling.

After slaughter, every carcass naturally loses a small amount of water as it cools. Under normal conditions, this is around 1–2% of the carcass weight.

In PSE meat, however, the damaged muscle proteins can no longer bind water effectively. As a result, water loss can increase by up to 10%, reducing the final saleable weight of the product.

The following example illustrates the potential economic impact of additional water loss. The calculation uses an illustrative average carcass value of €1.60 per kilogram across the whole carcass. Individual cuts have different market values, so the figures should be understood as an overall illustration rather than the value of specific cuts.

Today, the incidence of PSE has been significantly reduced through improvements in genetics, transport, animal handling and slaughter practices. Although PSE still occurs, not every stressed animal develops the condition, and not every case results in the same increase in water loss.

However, the example illustrates why reducing stress before slaughter plays an important role in professional meat production. Even relatively small increases in quality defects can translate into substantial economic losses when thousands of animals are processed every day.

While the previous calculation illustrates the potential direct loss of saleable product, PSE meat can also create challenges further down the supply chain.

For retailers, PSE meat may be less attractive because it releases more water during storage and cooking. Consumers can notice excessive liquid in the packaging or in the frying pan, while the cooked meat may appear drier than expected.

For meat processors, the consequences can be even more significant. Products such as cooked ham depend on the meat's ability to bind and retain water throughout production. PSE meat has a reduced water-binding capacity, making it more difficult to achieve the desired product quality. To compensate, processors may need to use more functional ingredients and adjust their production process, increasing manufacturing costs. Even then, the final product may not meet the same quality standards as meat produced under normal conditions.

For the facility, this is not only a production issue but also a commercial one. Customers expect meat that performs consistently during further processing. If quality problems occur repeatedly, processors may seek alternative suppliers that can deliver more reliable raw material.

As a result, quality problems do not stop at the slaughter facility. They continue throughout the supply chain, affecting processors, retailers and ultimately the relationship between suppliers and their customers.

Measures to Reduce Stress

To reduce the risk of PSE, professional handling focuses on minimising unnecessary stress throughout the period between arrival and stunning. Several measures help achieve this.

Animals are unloaded as calmly as possible and are generally held in lairage (holding pens) before slaughter, where they have access to water and time to recover from transport. Throughout handling, unnecessary noise and rough treatment are minimised, while animals are usually moved in smaller groups and, where possible, kept with familiar animals to reduce fighting and social stress.

Facility design also contributes to calmer handling. Movement areas are designed to encourage animals to move naturally, for example by using gradual curves rather than sharp corners for pigs. In warm conditions, water sprinkling may also be used to help keep animals comfortable.

Operational planning also plays an important role. Coordinating farm collections, transport arrivals and processing schedules helps ensure animals have sufficient time in lairage before entering the next stage of the process. Better scheduling can therefore reduce unnecessary stress and help maintain consistent meat quality.

Together, these measures reduce unnecessary stress and help maintain consistent meat quality. Stress, however, is not the only factor that can influence the quality and commercial value of meat. The physical condition of the animal on arrival also plays an important role.

The Condition of the Animal

Animals can arrive at the facility with excessive dirt, mud, bruises, broken bones or other injuries. While these conditions are also undesirable from an animal welfare perspective, they can create operational challenges and economic losses throughout the production process.

One of the first concerns is excessive dirt. During cattle processing, for example, the hide is removed from the carcass. If the animal arrives heavily contaminated with mud or manure, bacteria from the outside of the hide are more likely to be transferred to the carcass if the process is not carefully controlled.

In pigs, excessive dirt can also make the cleaning process less effective. As more contamination enters the production process, maintaining hygiene standards becomes more challenging throughout the following processing stages.

Professional meat production relies on several microbiological barriers, often referred to as hurdles, to keep bacterial growth under control. Good hygiene, rapid chilling, vacuum packaging, curing, smoking and other processing methods each reduce the ability of bacteria to grow.

The effectiveness of these hurdles depends on the condition of the carcass at the beginning of the process. The cleaner the animal arrives at the facility, the easier it is for every following step to keep bacterial contamination under control. Higher levels of contamination at the start increase the challenge throughout the production chain, from the slaughter facility to meat processors and retailers.

For meat processors, this means the raw material enters the facility with a higher microbiological load. Although processors use their own hygiene systems and processing hurdles to control bacterial growth, starting with more contaminated raw material makes these systems more difficult to manage. This can increase production costs, reduce shelf life and, if quality problems occur repeatedly, affect customer relationships, brand reputation and the commercial value of the final product.

Physical Injuries

Open wounds create a different set of challenges. In professional meat production, animals with severe injuries or open wounds generally require additional veterinary assessment before entering the production process. Depending on the condition and the applicable regulations, they may be rejected from the normal process or require separate handling.

Besides causing pain and suffering for the animal, physical injuries can also create economic losses. Bruising, broken bones and other injuries caused by rough handling by people or by fighting between animals reduce the commercial value of the carcass.

Blood accumulates around damaged tissue, and fractured bones often require affected areas to be removed during further processing because they are no longer suitable for processing.

For cattle, careful handling is also important to protect the hide. Scars, bruises and other damage caused by rough handling on the farm or during transport can remain visible after tanning, reducing the quality and value of the leather. Since the hide is an important by-product of the beef industry, preventing unnecessary damage helps preserve its commercial value.

For this reason, professional animal handling begins on the farm and continues through transport, unloading and processing. Throughout each stage, good handling practices aim to minimise unnecessary stress, injuries and physical damage, supporting both animal welfare and the commercial value of the final products.

How these principles are implemented can vary between countries and individual facilities. Factors such as infrastructure, staff training, operational planning and regulatory oversight all influence how consistently professional handling practices are applied.

The Future of Professional Animal Handling

While modern slaughterhouses have significantly reduced many of the quality defects associated with poor animal handling, research and investment continue. The objective is to further improve animal welfare while enhancing meat quality, food safety and operational efficiency.

Current research is exploring alternative stunning methods that aim to reduce stress before animals lose consciousness. At the same time, improvements in transport planning, lairage management and production scheduling seek to create a smoother flow from arrival to slaughter, reducing unnecessary waiting times and handling.

Digital technologies may also contribute to future improvements. Camera systems, sensors and artificial intelligence can help monitor animal behaviour, identify signs of stress or injury earlier and optimise the movement of animals through the facility. Better planning of transport arrivals, resting periods and slaughter schedules may further reduce unnecessary stress before slaughter.

Animal welfare standards are also likely to continue evolving. Governments, retailers, veterinary authorities and animal welfare organisations all influence how animals are transported, handled and processed. While stricter standards can increase production costs, they may also improve meat quality, reduce product losses and strengthen consumer confidence throughout the supply chain.

Public discussions are often shaped by individual cases of poor animal handling. As with any industry, however, standards and practices can vary between countries, companies and individual facilities. This article focuses on the professional handling practices that are designed to reduce stress, contamination, injuries and the economic losses associated with them.

Although approaches differ between countries and facilities, the underlying principle remains the same: reducing unnecessary stress, contamination and injuries not only improves animal welfare but also supports food safety, meat quality and the economic performance of the meat supply chain.

The debate intensified after European regulators proposed reserving a larger share of the mobile satellite spectrum for European operators. Under the plan, roughly two-thirds of the band would be allocated to EU-based operators (with one-third specifically reserved for government and security services), while leaving one-third open to non-EU operators such as Starlink.

Starlink has criticized the proposal, arguing that it could limit future services, reduce competition, and risk fragmenting the spectrum.

The debate reflects a broader question about communications infrastructure and the role governments play in it. While satellite operators provide commercial services, communications networks also support public services, emergency response, government operations, and national security.

Modern communications systems are built on multiple layers — from ground networks and traditional satellite systems to a new generation of low-Earth-orbit constellations.

As these networks become more important, governments are increasingly deciding how they should fit within existing communications systems.

This article examines the different layers of communications infrastructure, the role governments play in the sector, and how countries are responding to the emergence of large satellite communication networks.

Communications Infrastructure

Modern communications systems rely on several layers of infrastructure.

The first layer is ground-based. Mobile towers, cable networks, data centers, and undersea cables carry most of the world's communications traffic and form the foundation of national communications systems.

A second layer consists of traditional communications satellites. For decades, governments, broadcasters and telecom operators have used satellites — typically a relatively small number of large satellites operating in higher orbits — to provide television services, government communications, and connectivity in remote areas.

More recently, low-Earth-orbit (LEO) satellite constellations have become a larger part of the communications industry. Examples include Starlink, OneWeb, China's Guowang project, Canada's Telesat Lightspeed, Amazon's Project Kuiper, and the European Union's planned IRIS² network.

Unlike traditional satellite systems, these networks use hundreds or thousands of satellites operating closer to Earth. Their goal is to provide communications services across large geographic areas while supporting higher data capacity and lower latency.

Together, these layers form the communications infrastructure that supports businesses, public services, governments, and other critical functions.

While much of this infrastructure is built and operated by private companies, governments have long played a central role in the sector. Governments classify large parts of it as critical infrastructure and maintain oversight through licensing, spectrum allocation, security requirements, and competition rules.

For satellites, communications rely on radio spectrum. The amount of spectrum available for satellite services is limited, which influences how much data a satellite network can transmit and how many users it can support at the same time. Because spectrum is limited, governments need to balance competing demands between commercial services and strategic needs.

This has produced different responses around the world.

Different National Approaches

In Canada and Australia, governments have largely incorporated commercial satellite services such as Starlink into their strategies to address connectivity gaps in large territories and remote populations. At the same time, Canada is developing its own satellite network — Telesat Lightspeed. The network is focused primarily on business, aviation, and government users.

China has taken a different approach. Alongside restrictions on foreign platforms, it is building large domestic constellations, notably Guowang (state-led, targeting thousands of satellites for national infrastructure and military use) and Qianfan, to ensure connectivity under Chinese control and reduce reliance on foreign systems and compete directly with starlink for global coverage.

Russia has followed a similar path, integrating satellite development into its national space and communications programmes to support strategic autonomy.

The United States presents a different model again. Alongside Starlink, Amazon's Project Kuiper has emerged as a second major commercial LEO constellation, having begun satellite deployments in 2025. Rather than building state-owned infrastructure, the United States relies on a competitive domestic industry, with government agencies procuring services commercially.

Europe occupies a more complex position. Starlink already operates widely across the continent and is actively used by consumers, businesses, and public organizations. At the same time, Europe maintains a strong industrial base with established satellite operators, manufacturers, and launch providers.

As satellite communications gained strategic importance — particularly after Starlink’s role in Ukraine — European policymakers focused on the risks of heavy dependence on non-European operators for critical infrastructure. The discussion centred not on whether to use satellite services, but on how much of Europe’s vital communications capacity should rely on operators outside the continent.

This has led to major initiatives such as the multi-billion euro IRIS² (Infrastructure for Resilience, Interconnectivity and Security by Satellite) project, whose total estimated cost has evolved significantly since it was first conceived.

Operated by the SpaceRISE consortium (SES, Eutelsat, and Hispasat), IRIS² is a multi-orbit system designed for high security and resilience, with first launches targeting 2029 and initial government services expected in the early 2030s.

Alongside this, Europe continues to support established operators such as Eutelsat OneWeb, which has completed its first-generation satellites and is now investing in next-generation replacements to ensure long-term service continuity. Rather than excluding commercial services, Europe is building a hybrid model that combines market competition with stronger domestic capabilities.

These varied approaches illustrate the tension between global commercial deployment and national efforts to secure control over critical communications infrastructure in an era of limited spectrum.

Conclusion

The discussion between the European Union and Starlink is not simply a debate about one company or one spectrum allocation decision. It reflects a broader evolution in communications infrastructure.

Modern communications systems rely on multiple layers — ground-based networks, traditional satellites, and low-Earth-orbit constellations. These layers together support the movement of information across economies, governments, public services, and security institutions.

As satellite networks become a larger part of this infrastructure, governments are deciding how best to integrate them into existing communications systems.

Countries have adopted different approaches. Some have incorporated commercial providers such as Starlink alongside their own initiatives, while others are developing domestic constellations to strengthen national capabilities. Europe is pursuing a hybrid path that includes both commercial services and major projects such as IRIS².

The debate therefore concerns not only technology and spectrum allocation, but also how future communications infrastructure will be developed, operated, and integrated into national systems.

Presented under the new Bovensiepen automotive brand, the 05 GT becomes one of the company’s first major models developed independently from the Alpina name while still remaining connected to Buchloe and the grand touring philosophy historically associated with the family.

Based on the BMW M5 Touring, the 05 GT combines a hybrid V8 powertrain producing 800 hp and 1,100 Nm of torque with revised suspension components, forged lightweight wheels, bespoke Pirelli tires, and an Akrapovič titanium exhaust system.

Alongside the technical changes, the car also introduces a new exterior design language developed together with automotive designer Frank Stephenson.

Design — New Identity, Familiar Proportions

Although the 05 GT remains visually connected to the proportions of the BMW M5 Touring, Bovensiepen has revised multiple exterior elements as part of the company’s new design direction. The front section introduces a large stainless steel grille together with larger air intakes, while a lower body line connects the front bumper, side skirts, and rear section into one continuous design element.

At the rear, the car receives a titanium Akrapovič exhaust system with four oval tailpipes integrated into the redesigned rear section. According to Bovensiepen, the exhaust system also reduces overall weight by 7.8 kg compared with the standard setup.

The exterior project was developed together with Frank Stephenson, whose previous work includes the modern MINI, BMW X5, Ferrari F430, Maserati MC12, and McLaren P1.

Engineering — Revising The M5 Touring

The 05 GT uses a revised version of BMW’s hybrid V8 drivetrain architecture. Bovensiepen states that the vehicle receives optimized engine software together with a revised intake system and modified airflow management designed for both performance and cooling.

The resulting system output rises to 800 hp and 1,100 Nm of torque, allowing the car to reach a top speed of 305 km/h while accelerating from 0–100 km/h in under 3.6 seconds.

Beyond outright performance figures, the company also revised multiple chassis and suspension components. The 05 GT receives modified support bearings, Eibach springs, a revised strut tower brace, and bespoke Pirelli tires developed specifically for the vehicle.

According to Bovensiepen, the setup focuses on combining sporty handling with long-distance ride comfort, including for rear passengers.

The car rides on 21-inch forged wheels featuring a symmetrical multi-spoke design developed specifically for the model. Both wheel finishes and brake caliper colours can be individually configured.

Interior — Handcrafted Manufacturing And Customization

Inside, Bovensiepen continues to position the 05 GT around handcrafted production and extensive customer customization. The interior uses Lavalina leather throughout multiple contact surfaces, including the steering wheel, seat panels, centre console sections, and additional trim components.

Customers can individually configure leather colours, stitching, trim finishes, embroidery, and additional interior details.

Bovensiepen also states that more extensive personalization requests remain part of the company’s regular manufacturing process, including individually upholstered luggage compartments and bespoke interior elements. Each vehicle also receives an individual production plaque as part of the company’s low-volume manufacturing approach developed in Buchloe.

Positioning — Continuing Beyond Alpina

With the 05 GT, Bovensiepen continues to focus on high-performance grand touring rather than track-focused supercar development. The car combines high power output with long-distance comfort, handcrafted interior production, and extensive customer customization developed at the company’s Buchloe facility.

The 05 GT also becomes one of the first major models presented under the Bovensiepen name following BMW’s acquisition of the Alpina brand rights. Deliveries are scheduled to begin in the fourth quarter of 2026, with prices starting at €198,900 before additional customization options.

The aircraft is a single-engine fighter developed by Swedish manufacturer Saab, built around distributed operations, software adaptability and integrated sensing. This article looks at the operational concept behind the aircraft and the technical decisions built around it.

Distributed Operations and the BAS 90 Concept

The Gripen E's design traces back to a Cold War doctrine developed by Sweden, which shaped the aircraft's operating model. The Swedish military assumed that in a conflict, large air bases could become vulnerable to attack. Instead of concentrating fighter aircraft at a small number of permanent airfields, Sweden developed the BAS 90 system, which dispersed aircraft across several smaller operating locations. Reinforced sections of public roads were prepared so fighters could take off and land outside traditional air bases.

The Gripen was designed to function inside this system. The aircraft can operate from shorter runways, including road strips roughly 16 metres wide and around 500 metres long, and can land on roads of approximately 600 metres without requiring arresting hooks or brake chutes. After landing, it can be refuelled and rearmed in around 10 minutes. The turnaround is structured to be handled by a small ground crew, typically around five personnel.

This operating model defines how Gripen can be used in conflict. The aircraft’s software architecture follows a similar practical design logic.

Software Architecture and Upgrade Structure

Much of a modern fighter aircraft is shaped by software. When a new missile is introduced or radar behaviour is refined, those changes are implemented in the aircraft’s code.

In most aircraft, the software that controls flight and the software that manages radar and weapons form one integrated system. A change in one area can require updates across the entire package.

Gripen E was built with a different internal structure known as split avionics. The software that controls flight stability is separated from the software that manages radar, electronic warfare and weapons integration.

Because of that separation, updating a radar mode or integrating a new missile does not require changes to the flight-control layer. The aircraft’s flying characteristics remain the same, while the combat functions are updated.

This separation changes the upgrade cycle. Tactical software functions can be updated rapidly, in a matter of days or months rather than years. Because mission-system changes do not touch the flight-control layer, pilots keep the aircraft’s certified safety characteristics while gaining access to new capabilities as they are introduced.

Over the life of the platform, this structure also reduces the risk of the aircraft becoming locked into ageing technology. Updates can be introduced in smaller steps, avoiding large, infrequent mid-life upgrade programmes.

The same modular structure supports mission flexibility. Software “apps” can be added or replaced, and operators can influence the design process and introduce changes independently of the manufacturer.

Sensors, Data Fusion and Shared Awareness

Gripen E combines radar, infrared tracking, electronic sensing and secure data links into one integrated system. Information from these sources is processed together before it reaches the cockpit. The pilot does not work through separate sensor streams, but sees a single aligned view of the airspace.

Contacts detected by radar can be cross-checked against infrared signatures or electronic emissions. The system correlates this data internally into a single picture for the pilot.

The structure extends beyond one aircraft. Data gathered by a Gripen can be shared with other aircraft in formation and with ground or airborne command elements. A target detected by one platform can appear on the displays of others. Detection and engagement do not have to originate from the same aircraft.

This matters particularly in beyond-visual-range engagements. Modern air combat often occurs at distances where opposing pilots do not see each other directly. Engagement depends on sensor detection, tracking precision and missile performance rather than visual manoeuvre alone.

Artificial Intelligence and Decision Support

In this context, Saab partnered with the German defence technology company Helsing to test an artificial intelligence agent known as Centaur inside a Gripen E.

During a series of test flights conducted under Project Beyond, the system was integrated into the aircraft’s mission software. Centaur processed sensor data in real time, calculated intercept geometry and generated missile firing cues during simulated engagements. It also executed manoeuvres based on the evolving tactical picture.

A human pilot remained in the cockpit throughout and retained full authority to override the system. The objective was not autonomous flight, but accelerated data handling and tactical calculation in high-speed scenarios.

Because Gripen E separates mission software from flight-control software, such functions can be introduced and refined without modifying the aircraft’s core flying characteristics.

Airframe, Sustainment and Performance

Gripen E remains a single-engine, delta-wing fighter with canards, retaining the compact configuration of earlier variants. It is powered by the General Electric F414G engine, providing increased thrust compared to previous Gripen models.

The aircraft is smaller and lighter than most twin-engine European fighters. This affects fuel consumption, maintenance requirements and operating footprint. A single engine reduces mechanical complexity and simplifies sustainment compared to twin-engine platforms.

Internal fuel capacity was increased in the E version, extending range and time on station without external tanks. The aircraft can carry long-range air-to-air missiles such as Meteor, as well as air-to-ground munitions across multiple hardpoints.

Gripen E is not designed as a low-observable stealth aircraft in the fifth-generation sense. Instead of focusing primarily on radar-signature reduction, Saab structured much of the aircraft’s survivability concept around electronic warfare, sensor integration and networked operation.

Saab has argued that advances in radar systems and sensor networks reduce some of the traditional advantages associated with stealth alone. Gripen E therefore focuses on detecting, disrupting and complicating an opponent’s ability to track or engage the aircraft through electronic warfare, jamming and integrated sensing rather than relying mainly on stealth shaping.

Market Position and Expert Perspectives

Gripen E enters a global fighter market shaped by larger twin-engine platforms and fifth-generation stealth aircraft. Analysts have pointed to the aircraft's ease of maintenance, rapid turnaround capability and lower operating cost compared to heavier platforms as factors relevant to procurement decisions. The aircraft's compatibility with dispersed operating conditions and shorter runways aligns with air forces that do not rely exclusively on large, fixed installations.

Lieutenant Colonel Johan Huovinen of the Swedish Defence University has described Ukraine's deployment as a test of Swedish technology in the type of environment the aircraft was originally structured to address.

At the same time, defence analysts have identified clear trade-offs. Gripen E does not incorporate full fifth-generation stealth architecture and does not match the internal payload capacity of larger twin-engine fighters. Justin Bronk of the Royal United Services Institute has noted that the aircraft cannot by itself guarantee air superiority against a highly sophisticated opponent. Production scale has also been noted as a practical consideration, with Saab's ability to expand output becoming part of procurement planning as interest in the platform increases.

Ukraine's Ministry of Defence has framed its interest in practical terms. Oleksii Antoniuk, defence cooperation lead at the ministry, noted that Ukraine operates from dispersal airstrips, dirt runways, sections of highways and concealed positions — conditions the Gripen was designed to address.

Throughout automotive history, manufacturers have regularly incorporated new technologies into their vehicles. In many cases, those technologies were adopted to improve a specific aspect of the vehicle while the broader character of the product remained largely unchanged.

Technology and Product Development

Ferrari presented the Luce differently. The company argued that the electric drivetrain required a different approach to design.

Historically, sports car manufacturers had adopted new technologies in service of the same core objective: improving performance. New materials, transmissions, aerodynamic solutions, and hybrid systems were adopted because they offered a competitive advantage. Design then adapted to support the new function. This could include larger air intakes for cooling, aerodynamic devices to improve stability, or bodywork changes needed to accommodate new components.

Some of these developments generated debate among customers and enthusiasts. The transition from manual gearboxes to paddle-shift transmissions is one example. Many drivers preferred the traditional driving experience offered by a manual gearbox. Yet paddle-shift systems delivered clear performance advantages and eventually became widely adopted across the sports car industry.

This pattern is not limited to sports car manufacturers. Across the broader automotive industry, new technologies are not always adopted for performance reasons. Some are introduced to improve comfort, efficiency, driving range, or everyday usability.

Those different objectives often lead to different technical requirements, which in turn influence the final design of the vehicle.

Electric Vehicles and Design

Electric vehicles provide a useful example of how different objectives can influence vehicle design.

Manufacturers such as Tesla, BYD, and Mercedes often develop electric vehicles around efficiency, driving range, and everyday usability. Models such as the Tesla Model 3, Tesla Model Y, and BYD Seal use aerodynamic shapes, smooth surfaces, and vehicle proportions that support those objectives.

The Mercedes EQS, for example, was developed around the distinctive "one-bow" design. The shape reduces aerodynamic drag while creating a spacious interior and a more upright seating position. Without a large combustion engine at the front of the vehicle, designers have greater flexibility to optimise airflow and range.

Performance-oriented vehicles are developed around a different set of priorities. Cooling, stability, downforce, and vehicle control become increasingly important. These requirements influence both the engineering and design of the vehicle.

Vehicles such as the Lotus Evija, Rimac Nevera, and the newly released Renault 5 Turbo 3E follow this approach. Large air intakes, aerodynamic channels, wings, diffusers, and active aerodynamic systems are not primarily design features. They are used to manage airflow, cool components, generate downforce, and maintain stability at high speeds.

The EV technology may be similar, but the objective is different. As a result, the design follows a different set of requirements.

Design Language

Technical requirements explain part of a vehicle's design. They do not explain every design decision.

Once the basic technical requirements of a product are established, manufacturers still decide how those requirements are expressed in the final vehicle. Some choose to integrate new technologies into an existing design language. Others use them as an opportunity to introduce a new visual direction.

An electric drivetrain, for example, may influence packaging, proportions, cooling requirements, and aerodynamics. It does not automatically require a minimalist, futuristic, or science-fiction-inspired appearance. These remain design choices.

As a result, discussions around new products are often not only about the technology itself, but also about how that technology is incorporated into the broader identity of the Brand.

How manufacturers navigate these decisions will vary. Some will treat new technologies as tools in service of an established identity. Others will use them as a reason to redefine what the brand represents. Neither approach is inherently right or wrong — but the choice is rarely just a technical one.

The question is what happens around that work. At professional level, training is not only repeated. It is given direction, observed over time, and adjusted when the results show that something needs to change.

This article looks at repetition and review in professional sport, and how the same principle can also be applied at smaller scales.

The Foundation

The emphasis on review does not mean that the work itself becomes secondary. In sport, improvement still begins with repeated exposure to the task.

Through repetition, athletes become more familiar with the demands of the activity. Timing, rhythm, coordination, conditioning, and execution gradually become more stable because the same situations are encountered again and again over long periods of time. Under fatigue, pressure, or competition intensity, that familiarity matters.

Before review and adjustment can be effective, there first needs to be enough repeated work to create stable patterns. Without that base, there is little to analyse beyond isolated moments.

But repeated work also needs direction. Training has to be connected to something the athlete is trying to improve. In professional sport, this may involve a technical adjustment, a tactical role, preparation for a specific opponent, or a broader training cycle.

This creates the base for later review. Repetition produces the patterns. Direction gives those patterns a reference point.

Review

Once work is repeated consistently and a direction is set, review and analysis can become part of the process.

Different areas of performance can then be examined together and measured against the objective of the training. Coaches may look at technical execution, conditioning, fatigue, recovery, nutrition, or decision-making in order to understand where performance is improving, where progress slows, and where adjustment may be needed.

This gives coaches a clearer basis for deciding whether training should continue in the same direction or be changed.

Periodisation and Structured Review

The systematic analysis of performance has long been part of organised sport. From the 1960s onward, Soviet sports science played an important role in formalising and systematising many of these practices.

Figures such as Lev Matveyev helped develop and popularise the concept of periodisation. Training was organised across longer cycles rather than treated as isolated sessions. Different phases of preparation focused on different objectives, including conditioning, technical work, recovery, and competition readiness.

This approach also required continuous observation. Coaches kept detailed records, monitored how athletes responded to training loads, and adjusted future sessions based on those observations. Training was recorded, compared, and modified as part of the same process rather than evaluated only afterwards.

Expanding Performance Structures

Over time, professional sport also began organising these structures more systematically around the athlete.

Elite teams, Olympic programmes, and professional athletes increasingly worked with dedicated departments focused on conditioning, recovery, biomechanics, nutrition, and performance analysis. Review was no longer limited to one coach observing a session. Multiple specialists followed different parts of performance at the same time.

This gradually increased the amount of information surrounding training and competition. As a result, technology became increasingly important in helping teams collect, organise, and review that information over time.

Tracking and Measurement

In many sports, technology now supports performance review at a much more detailed level. In football, clubs such as Bayern Munich and Liverpool use wearable GPS and GNSS tracking systems during training. These devices do not only record total distance. High-frequency accelerometers also measure sprint counts, movement intensity, directional changes, and metabolic load, allowing coaches to follow how players move through the training week and whether technical execution remains stable as fatigue builds.

In basketball, NBA teams use high-resolution optical tracking systems installed inside arenas, including Hawk-Eye technology. These systems continuously track the position of every player and the ball while also capturing detailed movement data. Teams can then study shooting mechanics, defensive positioning, movement patterns, and decision-making over the course of a long season.

The growing amount of information gradually moved performance review beyond direct observation alone. As tracking systems expanded, AI also became useful in helping teams process larger volumes of data and identify patterns that would otherwise remain difficult to detect across isolated sessions or games.

AI and Pattern Recognition

At elite clubs such as Manchester City, and across several NBA organisations, AI systems are now used to combine tracking data, video footage, and physiological information into larger analytical models.

At an individual level, these systems can identify small changes in performance that may be difficult to detect through observation alone. This may include slight delays in decision-making, reduced positional consistency, or gradual declines in technical execution.

At the same time, the same systems can examine broader patterns across several weeks or an entire season. Coaches may identify recurring drops in intensity after travel schedules, spacing issues that emerge under fatigue, or movement patterns linked to elevated injury risk.

The value of AI therefore lies not only in speed, but in the ability to connect small individual changes with wider long-term patterns.

Application at Smaller Scales

The same principle also exists outside elite sport.

Athletes earlier in development, business owners, entrepreneurs, and sales professionals all operate through repeated work connected to a specific objective. The principle itself does not change. What changes is the level of infrastructure surrounding the process.

Most people do not have teams of analysts, physiologists, and coaches monitoring performance continuously. But technology increasingly allows smaller-scale review systems to emerge.

Wearables can track sleep, recovery, and heart rate. Logbooks can record observations, energy levels, and performance outcomes. Sales figures, training sessions, meeting results, and work patterns can all become part of a broader review process.

Separately, each source provides only limited information. But when observations are collected consistently over time, larger patterns begin to appear. Certain conditions may repeatedly produce stronger output, while others may consistently lead to reduced performance or slower recovery.

Considerations

Structured review also has limits.

More information does not automatically create better performance. Excessive feedback can increase cognitive load, create hesitation, and interfere with execution itself.

The timing of review matters as well. Stable patterns usually need to exist before meaningful correction becomes possible. In early stages of learning, repeated exposure often matters more than constant analysis.

Different individuals also respond differently to feedback. Some perform better with continuous correction, while others require more space between execution and review.

Conclusion

The tools surrounding performance development changed considerably over time. Training environments that once depended mainly on direct observation now operate through tracking systems, specialist departments, cloud telemetry, and AI-assisted analysis.

But the underlying principle changed far less.

Repeated work creates the base. Review identifies patterns inside that work. Adjustment shapes the next stage of development.

But Germany’s current defence expansion increasingly extends beyond procurement alone.

For decades after the Second World War, much of the country’s industrial and research base remained largely separate from military development. Defence production stayed concentrated around a relatively small number of specialised companies such as Rheinmetall, Krauss-Maffei Wegmann, Airbus, and smaller defence suppliers.

That separation is now beginning to weaken. Germany is starting to connect defence more directly to broader industrial, technological, and research systems that historically supported its civilian economic strength.

Political Change and Defence Expansion

The broader transformation began after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, when Chancellor Olaf Scholz announced a €100 billion special fund for the Bundeswehr aimed at rebuilding readiness, procurement, and ammunition stocks after decades of underinvestment.

Under Chancellor Friedrich Merz, following the 2025 federal election, the effort gained significant momentum. The government pushed through a €500 billion infrastructure programme alongside major increases in defence spending.

By 2026, the political direction had become more explicit: the government declared the goal of building Europe’s strongest conventional army, with defence spending projections rising toward more than €150 billion annually later in the decade.

The government also introduced a new National Security Council to improve coordination between defence, intelligence, foreign policy, and economic ministries.

At the same time, procurement reforms were introduced to speed up military projects, industrial expansion, and infrastructure development. This is particularly important because Germany’s defence expansion increasingly depends not only on a small number of large contractors, but also on the country’s wider industrial base.

Mittelstand and Industrial Supplier Networks

One of Germany’s core economic strengths is the depth of its industrial supplier ecosystem. The country operates through dense manufacturing networks — the Mittelstand — made up of thousands of highly specialised firms that form the backbone of large parts of German industry. Many operate as global leaders within narrow technical and manufacturing niches, producing components, industrial machinery, electronics, optics, software, advanced materials, and precision-engineered parts.

For decades, most of these companies remained focused on civilian markets while defence production stayed concentrated around a relatively small number of specialised contractors. That separation is now beginning to change.

Modern military systems increasingly require advanced electronics, sensors, embedded systems, software integration, automation, robotics, and precision manufacturing — areas where many Mittelstand firms already possess strong capabilities. As more companies enter defence supply chains or adapt dual-use technologies for military applications, Germany is expanding defence production beyond its traditional contractors into a much broader industrial network.

This broader supplier structure can also provide greater industrial resilience and production flexibility compared with systems that rely more heavily on a smaller number of major contractors.

Defence expansion may also create new industrial demand and employment opportunities at a time when parts of Germany’s manufacturing sector — particularly the automotive industry and its suppliers — are facing economic pressure.

Discussions around possible cooperation between larger defence and automotive plants, including talks involving Rheinmetall and Volkswagen facilities, increasingly reflect the growing overlap between industrial manufacturing capacity and defence production.

Industrial Semiconductors and Embedded Systems

Germany’s strengths in industrial semiconductors, power electronics, embedded systems, and sensors add further weight to this shift.

Unlike the United States, Germany is not primarily positioned around hyperscale AI computing or consumer AI chip dominance. Its semiconductor strengths are more industrial and engineering-focused. Companies such as Infineon and Bosch specialise in reliable, high-precision systems designed for industrial machinery, automation, automotive systems, and operation under demanding conditions.

These technologies also overlap with many modern military requirements. Drones, radar systems, communications equipment, autonomous platforms, vehicles, and battlefield electronics all depend heavily on specialised semiconductor technologies.

The semiconductor cluster around Dresden (Silicon Saxony) continues to expand, further strengthening Germany’s position in industrial-grade electronics and semiconductor manufacturing even if the country remains less dominant in consumer AI chips.

Universities, Applied Research, and Engineering

Germany already maintained military-linked research through institutions such as the Universität der Bundeswehr München, which operated more directly alongside the armed forces and defence sector.

Much of the wider civilian university system was different. For decades, many universities maintained civil clauses restricting military-related research, while engineering and applied research remained focused mainly on civilian industry and manufacturing.

That separation is now beginning to weaken. Technologies such as artificial intelligence, quantum computing, cybersecurity, autonomous systems, aerospace, drones, sensors, and software increasingly operate as dual-use technologies with both civilian and military applications.

Large German and European funding programmes connected to security and technological sovereignty are also pushing more universities and research institutions into these areas.

One of the clearest examples is the TUM Security and Defense Alliance launched in 2026 by the Technical University of Munich together with the Universität der Bundeswehr München and companies including Airbus Defence, HENSOLDT, MBDA, Helsing, Quantum Systems, SAP, and Isar Aerospace.

The importance of the project also lies in the role of TUM itself. The university is one of Europe’s leading engineering and research institutions and sits at the centre of a major industrial and technology ecosystem. Together with the Bundeswehr university, defence companies, and technology firms, the alliance focuses on bringing research in artificial intelligence, cybersecurity, autonomous systems, drone technology, and satellite communications into military and dual-use applications.

Networked Warfare, AI, and Space-Based Systems

Furthermore Germany’s defence expansion increasingly extends into newer operational and technological areas that go beyond traditional military platforms alone. Modern warfare increasingly depends not only on tanks, aircraft, or artillery individually, but on how information, communications, reconnaissance, software systems, and autonomous technologies operate together across integrated networks.

This includes areas such as artificial intelligence, drones, battlefield software, satellite reconnaissance, secure communications, radar integration, electronic warfare, autonomous systems, and ISR networks used for intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance.

Companies such as Helsing develop software systems designed to process sensor data, accelerate battlefield analysis, support targeting, and integrate autonomous systems into wider command structures.

Germany is also expanding sovereign satellite and reconnaissance capabilities. One important example is the Rheinmetall-ICEYE joint venture, which will begin producing Synthetic Aperture Radar (SAR) satellites in Germany from 2026 onward.

Unlike conventional optical satellites, SAR systems use radar rather than visible light, allowing surveillance during darkness, cloud cover, smoke, and poor weather conditions. This provides more continuous intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance capability for military operations.

At the same time, programmes such as SATCOMBw are expanding secure military communications capabilities as Europe increasingly seeks to strengthen its own satellite reconnaissance, battlefield networking, intelligence systems, and communications infrastructure.

These developments increasingly connect Germany’s industrial strengths in software, sensors, embedded systems, electronics, industrial AI, communications technologies, and engineering with the requirements of modern networked warfare.

Infrastructure and Military Mobility

The current transformation also increasingly extends into physical infrastructure and logistics. Modern military capability depends not only on production and technology, but also on the ability to move equipment, sustain supply chains, deploy forces, and maintain operational mobility across large distances.

Germany is therefore increasingly adapting parts of its civilian infrastructure for military mobility and logistical resilience. This includes rail corridors, bridges, ports, depots, digital infrastructure, logistics systems, and transport networks that would become critical during large-scale military deployments across Europe.

One example is the modernization of Bremerhaven Port, Europe’s largest vehicle port, where infrastructure is being expanded for heavy military transport and large-scale equipment movement.

The broader shift increasingly positions Germany not only as a defence producer, but also as a logistical and industrial backbone within wider European and NATO planning.

Bureaucracy, Procurement, and Structural Friction

Despite the scale of the shift, Germany continues to face major structural limitations in procurement and industrial scaling.

For years, criticism of the Bundeswehr focused not only on spending levels, but also on slow approval processes, fragmented procurement structures, legal reviews, and administrative complexity that often delayed the conversion of political announcements into operational capability.

Part of this structure reflected Germany’s post-war political system, which emphasized oversight, regulation, and budgetary control over rapid military expansion.

In response, Germany introduced the Bundeswehr Planning and Procurement Acceleration Act (BwPBBG) in 2026 to simplify approval procedures, accelerate contracts, and reduce some of the bottlenecks that historically slowed procurement and infrastructure projects.

At the same time, parts of industry are already moving ahead of procurement timelines through pre-investment and industrial scaling. Rheinmetall’s rapid ammunition expansion partly reflects this approach, with the company investing heavily in production capacity based on expectations of sustained long-term demand.

However, expanding defence production at a national scale remains a complex industrial challenge. Think tanks, industry groups, and defence analysts continue to point to labour shortages, high energy costs, regulatory complexity, and slow industrial scaling as potential obstacles to faster expansion.

Criticism therefore increasingly focuses not only on spending levels, but on whether Germany can translate rapidly rising defence budgets into production capacity, technological development, and operational capability quickly enough.

Conclusion

Germany’s current defence expansion increasingly extends beyond military procurement alone. Rather than relying only on a relatively narrow group of defence contractors, the country is beginning to connect defence more closely to the wider industrial, technological, research, infrastructure, and engineering systems that historically supported its civilian economic strength.

This includes Mittelstand supplier networks, industrial semiconductors, universities, applied research, logistics infrastructure, software systems, satellite capabilities, and dual-use technologies that increasingly overlap with modern military requirements.

The result is a broader structural shift in which defence is becoming more integrated with Germany’s wider industrial ecosystem rather than operating separately from it.

Whether the transformation succeeds fully remains uncertain. Bureaucratic constraints, procurement delays, labour shortages, and political caution continue to affect the pace of change. However, the direction itself represents a significant departure from the post-war model in which Germany’s civilian industrial system and defence sector largely remained apart.