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If all sounds but human voices ceased to exist, what was heard in Ukraine in the wake of the NATO Vilnius summit would be a deep sigh. Those of the older generation probably said: “We’ve been here before.”

In 2008 at another NATO summit Ukraine received a vague reply to its membership aspirations, which can be summarised as: “You are definitely welcome some time in the future.”

This position infuriated and empowered one person wanting to conquer Ukraine and other former Soviet and Eastern Bloc states ― Vladimir Putin. He understood that he could lose influence over these countries “some time in the future”. 

Logically, the Russian president realised the time to act was sooner rather than later ― and started testing the West. Four months and four days after the 2008 summit, Russia invaded Georgia. This short war showed that invasions are still possible in Europe, as well as impunity for waging them. “It’s horrible if you think about this,” my then-editor at the Ukrainian daily newspaper told me. “And who’s next, if not us?”

He was right. Putin unleashed war against Ukraine six years later.

Now the story seems to be the same: NATO is still irresolute. But I feel optimistic.

It’s understandable that if NATO accepted Ukraine now, it would have to compromise its principle of defending a member who is under attack. Too many NATO states oppose sending troops to Ukraine, and to compromise on this issue would erode the alliance’s future. If NATO introduced a concrete plan for Ukraine membership, Putin would know how to make its achievement impossible. 

So that is why this slight disappointment makes me optimistic: if there is no plan, Ukraine can theoretically join NATO anytime. Also, this messes up Putin’s plans. Once he’s weak enough ― we will probably get in. And he’s getting weaker.

What is the value of an alliance if one party cannot fulfill its agreement? German Chancellor Olaf Scholz has raised expectations regarding Germany’s contribution to NATO, stating last year that Germany will have the largest conventional European army in the alliance.

However, just a few months ago, experts estimated that Germany’s ammunition would last for only two days in a full-scale war. Now our Estonian colleagues report a disheartening figure: four. With the current stock of ammunition, Germany can defend itself for only four days, which falls 26 days short of NATO’s demands.

Meanwhile, the German government continues to reassure its partners that it can top up its supplies. And simultaneously providing support to Ukraine.

For French soldiers and officers, their deployment in Romania since 2022 has been a practical apprenticeship in NATO. This might be a surprise given that the French army is the third largest in NATO, but France has had a complicated relationship with the Alliance over the decades.

In 1966 Charles de Gaulle withdrew the country from the integrated command, while more recently, Emmanuel Macron said the organisation was experiencing “brain death” in 2019. Since the early days of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Paris has become more involved, sending troops to Romania to “reinforce NATO’s defensive and deterrent posture” and “consolidate the protection of Europe’s eastern flank”, according to the ministry of defence.

The Aigle mission, part of the Rapid Reaction Force, now includes around 1,000 French troops. They work with Belgian, Dutch, Romanian and US soldiers in Constanța, on the Romanian Black Sea coast. For the French army, more accustomed in recent years to operating in a desert environment and facing terrorist groups, this is a major change. In Romania, it is working in coalition to act as a deterrent against Russia. 

For an incoming enemy missile, the Romanian airbase of Mihail Kogalniceanu is only seven minutes’ flight from occupied Crimea. If Moscow pushed its invasion further west, this Aigle Mission would form the first line of defence. Now French soldiers have to learn how to make different equipment work together, learn the doctrines and tactics of their allies and improve interoperability.

The French army is also getting used to different deployment conditions. Its Leclerc tanks had to be brought in by rail, as Germany does not allow such huge tanks to cross its territory. This military hardware also needs warming up with hot air during the winter to protect its electronic systems. The Aigle mission is set to grow: it is expected to have 6,000 soldiers by 2025, making it France’s largest deployment abroad.

When NATO leaders gathered for their “family photo” at the recent summit in Vilnius, the cameras captured a surprising moment. Walking onto the stage, United States president Joe Biden shook hands with just one leader: Viktor Orbán, prime minister of Hungary.

Given the not-so-amicable relationship between the two countries, most commentators speculated that the gesture was to thank Hungary for its willingness to finally support Sweden’s NATO accession.

However, as the summit ended, it became clear that the handshake was not enough to change Budapest’s position. As senior government officials admit Hungary is waiting for Turkey to lift its veto, there is still no date set for the final vote in Parliament, which would be necessary to fulfil Orbán’s promise.

Orbán also made it clear in an interview his views on Washington were unaltered: that if America wanted peace, it could happen by the next morning. But that the conflict in Ukraine would drag on because people in the West wanted the war to continue.

As I read about France, I am getting flashbacks from my own country.

In June 2011, Macedonian Prime Minister Nikola Gruevski was revelling in yet another election victory when his political demise started, unmasking his authoritarian regime.

At his party’s celebration in Skopje, a policeman brutally killed 22 year-old Martin Neskovski who, ironically, was there to honour Gruevski’s win.

Initially the police kept the details quiet, but word spread on social networks. Hundreds of young people started protesting against the attempted cover-up, demanding “Justice for Martin”. By the end of summer, thousands were on the streets every day.

Authorities had to acknowledge the murder, and apprehended the police officer suspected of the crime. But he insisted he was off duty that day. No one else was held responsible.

And yet, I recall nothing was the same any more. Before, only the weak opposition cried foul. Afterwards, Gruevski’s tight grip on power started to loosen.

In power since 2006, Gruevski was finally ousted in 2017. One raindrop opened the floodgates. In 2014, due to a proposed change in the educational law, tens of thousands protested in Skopje demanding Gruevski stop interfering in elementary schools and universities.

In 2015, another wave of protests started, after the opposition published a series of leaked wiretaps from the secret police that showed the corrupt face of Gruevski’s regiment. Among them, one suggested that the authorities plotted to cover up responsibility for the Neskovski murder.

The “Colourful Revolution” continued until a new majority toppled the regime in 2017.

I was there. I followed these protests. I felt the energy and witnessed how much the demand for justice for Martin was part of it.

Then politics took over, and now we still receive warnings that police brutality is a problem. I wonder – will history repeat itself?

This is the number of times Kyiv’s public workers have painted over a specific line of graffiti, while leaving its neighbouring words and pictures intact.

The graffiti asked in Ukrainian “Who do you call when the police murder?”. This first appeared on 16 September, 2019, against the backdrop of numerous reports of unsanctioned police violence. The graffiti has constantly been restored by activists, and spread to other large Ukrainian cities.

As the full-scale Russian invasion started, the reputation of the police improved drastically: many officers are on the frontline, defending their country and sacrificing their lives. But the problem of police impunity still needs to be addressed.

Nanterre and Marseille, France on 28 June – burning cars and the looting of shops. Kraków, Poland on 28 June – women walking through the sunshine in peace. These were scenes from a Twitter video that Polish prime minister Mateusz Morawiecki shared during the French unrest.

He was not the only populist leader capitalising on the events. In a Facebook post, Hungarian foreign minister Péter Szijjártó, who is a hardliner against migration like his Polish counterpart, wrote: “The French riots prove that it is impossible to integrate violent masses of illegal immigrants from other cultures.”

As well as scoring points at home, the Polish and Hungarian statements have a special message for the European Union. As the EU continues to debate its new migration pact, including voluntary relocation and solidarity, both central European countries made it clear they are ready to fight against the proposal which they consider is “forced upon them”.

They have both used their power of veto as blackmail before, so these might be more than empty words.

In understanding police violence and its psychology, the United States has more expertise than its European counterparts. Paul Hirschfield is a Professor of Sociology at Rutgers University, who has studied police accountability.

Is there a psychological aspect of being part of a police force that explains police violence?

Police violence can often be explained by group psychology. Violence is also a procedural reaction: it is coerced, encouraged or enabled in different situations.

Many aspects of police activity evoke an “us and them” mentality. First, the police are an isolated, paramilitary organisation. Its performance is often judged by adherence to procedures and incentives of which the public has little knowledge. The police often feel that the public, especially their critics, do not understand their work.

The everyday reality of unrealistic or ambiguous policies that inevitably lead to police misconduct, combined with external scrutiny, fosters a culture of teamwork and solidarity but also makes officers more prone to cover up for each other’s mistakes.

Is it possible to avoid this mentality?

When it comes to policing disadvantaged or oppressed communities, eroding the boundaries between the police and the public can help. The isolated paramilitary structure may be useful for some purposes (like reducing corruption and increasing internal accountability) but it does little to foster empathy across cultural barriers and promote trust from the public.

What would you suggest to tackle the phenomenon?

This would require time and significant changes in centralised police forces. The preferred approach is the Scandinavian. The long training (three years in Finland, for example, as opposed to the short training in the US) at highly selective national police academies provides an opportunity to fully instill a spirit of national service and equality in police officers (not to mention ample training in tactical alternatives to violence). I don’t think it is a coincidence that in France, where issues of police and inter-community hostility are so prominent, police officers receive relatively short training, averaging nine months.

Le Havre has long been nicknamed “Stalingrad-on-Sea”. To the eyes of many, its straight avenues lined with identical grey concrete buildings, built after the Second World War, were depressing and the city was considered one of the ugliest in France.

Towns on the Normandy coast paid the highest toll to the war: they were massively bombed, and Le Havre suffered the most destruction. 82% of the buildings were razed.

In the place of the ruins, architect Auguste Perret created a giant experiment. This was long criticised, but the inhabitants have since managed to change the way the city is seen, and obtained a UNESCO World Heritage listing in 2005.