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On 9 September 2026, the European Commission proposed an EU Public Procurement Act. When it comes to infrastructure, harmonised rules, and a once-only eligibility system would cut the cost of bidding across borders. Award decisions would weigh quality and origin alongside price, and a cap on turnover requirements would widen access for smaller firms. Security-of-supply obligations would move resilience from strategy papers into contracts that lenders can underwrite, while tighter concession rules would close grey areas in operating risk and contract modifications. Equal treatment for candidate countries would extend the EU’s reach into the Western Balkans. The text of the Regulation still has to pass through Parliament, the Council, and trilogue negotiations, so it may change substantially. Even so, it shows where the EU wants to go: the roughly €600 billion a year spent under EU-wide procurement rules is re-thought as a lever for advancing the EU’s long-sought goals of strategic autonomy and economic sovereignty. But that ambition comes at a cost: European preference and diversified supply chains typically mean higher bids, which will need to be priced into project debt and—ultimately—recovered from taxpayers.

Read here in pdf the Policy Paper by Vasiliki Poula, DPhil candidate, Department of International Development, University of Oxford; Editorial director, 1830 lab.

ON THE 9TH OF SEPTEMBER, THE EUROPEAN COMMISSION PROPOSED a new EU Public Procurement Act. Envisioned as a Regulation, if adopted, the framework would apply directly and identically across every Member State, with no national transposition required. But getting there means passing through the EU’s ordinary legislative procedure first: the text will need to go simultaneously to the European Parliament and the Council of the EU, each of which can amend it substantially. Once each side has its own negotiating position, informal three-way talks between Parliament, Council and the Commission – trilogues – thrash out a compromise text, which is typically where the most consequential changes happen: provisions in a Commission proposal are routinely watered down, tightened, or dropped altogether by the time trilogues conclude. Only once negotiators agree do Parliament and Council formally adopt the final text. For a Regulation this size, a year or more between proposal and final adoption would be a realistic expectation. And the proposal itself specifies that the Regulation would only start applying two years after that. In other words: it is highly unlikely that anything below will take effect within the next three years, and none of it is guaranteed to survive the long legislative journey in its current form. Still, the first proposal sets the tone for everything that follows, and for a proposal that affects such a key part of the EU economy, it is worth taking the time to decode the direction of the key changes it could bring.

Public procurement accounts for roughly 15% of EU GDP – around €2.5 trillion a year, spent by more than 250,000 public authorities across the bloc.

Public procurement accounts for roughly 15% of EU GDP – around €2.5 trillion a year, spent by more than 250,000 public authorities across the bloc, in sectors as varied as energy, transport, healthcare, education, waste management, and social protection. Most of that spending is governed by national rules. EU-wide procurement law, i.e. the law that the new Act wants to change, only kicks in once a contract crosses a specific value threshold: €5.4 million for works contracts and concessions, and lower thresholds ranging from roughly €140,000 to €432,000 for supply and service contracts, depending on the type of buyer. The Commission’s own estimates put what actually falls above those thresholds, and therefore under EU-wide rules, at around a quarter of total public spending – an average of roughly €600 billion a year.

Infrastructure is only one slice of that €600 billion covered by EU-wide rules, but it’s a very consequential one: infrastructure deals are long-lived and capital-intensive.

Infrastructure is only one slice of that €600 billion covered by EU-wide rules, but it’s a very consequential one: infrastructure deals are long-lived and capital-intensive. Buying office supplies or a batch of vaccines is usually a straightforward transaction – money changes hands, the goods get delivered, the contract closes. Building a motorway or a water-treatment plant doesn’t work that way because the upfront cost is too large. As such, debt plays a key role in infrastructure procurement – be it the state that needs to borrow to fund a contractor directly, or the contractor that builds first and recoups the cost slowly, over decades, through concessions. Public procurement for infrastructure, more than almost any other category of public spending, is really an exercise in managing debt – and how a contract is designed, what risk it assigns and to whom, is what determines how that debt gets priced. This piece examines the proposed Public Procurement Act through a specific lens: six ways it could reshape how EU infrastructure actually gets financed.

One set of rules, one place to find them

It is proposed that the 2014 works, services, utilities, and concessions Directives are collapsed into a single, directly-applicable Regulation. This is important because a directive sets an objective and leaves each Member State to write its own national law to achieve it; a regulation is binding word-for-word across all 27 countries from the moment it applies. For a lender structuring debt that will be syndicated across several jurisdictions, or a contractor bidding in multiple national markets, that divergence bears significant cost as legal opinions have to be obtained country by country, given that an arrangement that works cleanly in one Member State can’t simply be assumed to work the same way in the next.

…a common digital ecosystem built on an interoperability network and shared semantic standards lets public buyers and companies using different national systems to communicate through the same digital infrastructure.

A Commission-run eProcurement platform consolidates this harmonisation operationally: a common digital ecosystem built on an interoperability network and shared semantic standards lets public buyers and companies using different national systems to communicate through the same digital infrastructure, rather than each country running its own disconnected version of the process. Part of this ecosystem is an ‘electronic eligibility service’ built around the once-only principle: in practice, this means a company uploads its core credentials (proof of financial standing, tax and social security compliance, professional registration, and so on) a single time, into a verified digital profile, rather than re-assembling and resubmitting that same paperwork for every tender it enters. Right now, a contractor bidding on ten concessions across five countries effectively has to prove it is a legitimate, solvent, compliant company ten separate times, often in ten slightly different formats. Under the once-only principle, that verification happens once, and every public buyer across the EU can draw on the same underlying record, turning a repeated administrative burden into a one-time step.

…it is worth resisting the temptation to read this as simply a win for smaller players against larger ones, because the more interesting fault line here probably isn’t size per se but whether a company is oriented outward or inward to begin with. 

This favours smaller firms specifically, since a fixed compliance cost weighs more heavily on a company with no in-house legal team than on a large multinational contractor for whom it’s a rounding error. And there’s a second potential beneficiary: the internal market itself, extended to a part of it that has always lagged behind, as cross-border participation in EU infrastructure procurement has stayed stubbornly low. This is largely because infrastructure work depends on a home-field advantage: relationships with local subcontractors, familiarity with a country’s planning and permitting culture, political capital with regional authorities who often control the pipeline of future work. A shared eligibility system and a common data layer might dent that home bias by removing one of the costs of finding out what’s out there and proving you’re fit to bid on it. But it is worth resisting the temptation to read this as simply a win for smaller players against larger ones, because the more interesting fault line here probably isn’t size per se but whether a company is oriented outward or inward to begin with. A mid-sized Portuguese contractor that has never looked past its own borders doesn’t suddenly start bidding in Romania because the paperwork got easier; the paperwork was never really what was stopping it. The firms best placed to benefit from lower administrative friction are the ones that already had cross-border ambitions but were held back by exactly this kind of fixed cost – and, in practice, this category may include large, well-capitalised players expanding into new markets just as easily as it includes small ones. It will be worth watching which of the two effects turns out to dominate: already-outward-looking large contractors adding a sixth or seventh country to their list, or inward-looking small firms trying for their first cross-border contract.

Winning a tender now depends on more than the lowest price

Contracts would now be awarded on ‘best price-quality ratio’ as the default method, with a mandatory minimum quality weighting – 30% of the score, rising to 50% for labour-intensive contracts. Examples of criteria span several different areas: technical merit, aesthetic and functional characteristics, accessibility, and production methods; environmental and climate considerations, social considerations, and innovation objectives; the qualifications and experience of the staff actually assigned to the contract; and after-sales service, technical assistance, and delivery timing.

…when price alone decides a tender, the winner is often whoever made the most optimistic assumptions, not whoever can actually deliver.

The problem this targets is straightforward: when price alone decides a tender, the winner is often whoever made the most optimistic assumptions, not whoever can actually deliver – and on an infrastructure contract running twenty or thirty years, that gap between the winning bid and reality tends to surface only after the ink is dry. But a quality score is a judgement call in a way a price comparison never is, and judgement calls are easier to steer. Some of the quality criteria, like staff qualifications, technical merit, delivery timelines, are close to objectively verifiable: you can check a CV, confirm a delivery date was met on a past project, compare a technical specification against a standard. Others – aesthetic characteristics, ‘production methods’, broadly framed sustainability considerations – are closer to matters of taste or policy preference.

The proposal attaches two safeguards to manage that risk of bias. The first separates the price and quality assessments procedurally, so evaluators score technical merit before they know – or before that knowledge can colour their scoring – what a bidder has charged for it; in theory this stops a favoured bidder’s higher price from being retrofitted into a higher quality score to make the numbers work out in its favour. The second is a ‘four-eyes’ requirement: no single evaluator’s judgement stands alone – a second reviewer has to sign off. Both are reasonable, standard-issue anti-corruption tools.

The procedural separation of price and quality scoring faces the same limitation: it stops a bidder’s price from contaminating the quality score, but it does nothing to verify that the quality score was actually right.

But with infrastructure, corruption may not be the largest source of scoring error at all – an honest, technically wrong judgement might matter more, and neither safeguard is really built to catch that. A four-eyes rule assumes the second evaluator brings something the first one lacks. That assumption holds well against corruption, because a bribe or a conflict of interest is, by definition, private to one person; a second reviewer with no stake in the outcome is genuinely likely to notice what the first one missed. It mitigates much less well against a technical misjudgment, because the two evaluators scoring a motorway’s structural design, or a water-treatment plant’s long-term maintenance plan, are typically drawn from the same professional pool, trained in the same standards, exposed to the same industry assumptions about what ‘resilient’ or ‘durable’ looks like. The procedural separation of price and quality scoring faces the same limitation: it stops a bidder’s price from contaminating the quality score, but it does nothing to verify that the quality score was actually right.

Origin is another feature that now weighs more critically on winning a tender – though this isn’t entirely new territory. A narrower version already existed under Article 85 of the old utilities directive: buyers in water, energy, transport, and postal services could already reject a supply tender where non-EU content exceeded 50% of its value, and could already give preference to an EU bid over a non-EU one, provided the price gap was within 3%. What the proposed Act does is take that mechanism out of its corner.

In practice, public buyers get three separate tools for factoring origin into the competition. They can fold it directly into the quality track: awarding extra points for EU or ‘covered’ origin (meaning operators from the EU, or from a country whose trade agreement or GPA membership specifically extends EU procurement rights to it). These points sit inside the same 30-to-50% weighting as technical merit and staff experience. Or they can apply the preference on the price side instead. A public buyer might set a discount percentage in advance – for example, specifying that EU or covered-origin bids will be treated, for scoring purposes only, as if they cost 10% less than they actually do. Bidders then submit their real prices as normal. Picture two bidders on a motorway concession: Bidder A, fully EU-sourced, quotes €100 million; Bidder B, with less than half its content from covered sources, quotes a cheaper €95 million. When the authority compares the bids, it doesn’t use A’s real €100 million – it uses the discounted figure, €90 million, purely to rank the two against each other. That’s enough to put A ahead of B in the price comparison, even though A’s actual quote was higher. But if A wins the contract, it gets paid the €100 million it actually quoted, as the discounted €90 million never appears anywhere outside the scoring exercise. Crucially, too, this doesn’t stop a non-covered bid from competing. Had B quoted €85 million instead of €95 million, that 10% discount on A’s price would not have closed that gap, and B would have won.

Or the buyer can skip scoring altogether and set a hard gate unrelated to either of the above: they might stipulate, for instance, that tenders whose covered content falls below 50% of the total value can be rejected outright, before price or quality even come into it. Unlike the discount, this isn’t something a strong bid can offset: a tender that would have won easily on price can still be thrown out.

Tilting the scales toward EU or covered-origin bidders is a response to a real concern that critical infrastructure should not quietly become dependent on capital the EU has limited leverage over.

Tilting the scales toward EU or covered-origin bidders is a response to a real concern that critical infrastructure should not quietly become dependent on capital the EU has limited leverage over, especially in sectors where a disruption years down the line would be expensive or dangerous. But the same tilt raises the price of that protection, and infrastructure is precisely the sector where that price compounds over time. Whether that trade is worth making depends on how aggressively individual public buyers actually use these tools, sector by sector, contract by contract.

A cap on how much financial capacity a public buyer can demand

Public buyers can still ask bidders to prove financial standing through, for example, a minimum annual turnover, a minimum turnover in the specific area the contract covers, an acceptable ratio between assets and liabilities, or professional indemnity insurance. What’s new is a ceiling: the minimum turnover requirement can no longer exceed 50% of the estimated annual contract value, except in specifically justified cases tied to unusual risk.

A turnover requirement set disproportionately high relative to a contract’s actual value is one of the more straightforward, and most easily fixable, reasons a smaller firm never makes it to the bidding stage.

That ceiling is a direct response to a problem the Commission’s own evaluation of the current rules has already documented. Competition has declined over the past decade or so, with the share of tenders attracting only a single bid rising and the average number of bidders falling. Cross-border participation specifically has remained persistently limited. SMEs, for their part, actually win a healthy share of contracts by number – around 71% –, but a much smaller share by value – at 55%. This means they compete well for smaller work and remain largely absent from the biggest, highest-value tenders – which is precisely the category most large infrastructure deals fall into. A turnover requirement set disproportionately high relative to a contract’s actual value is one of the more straightforward, and most easily fixable, reasons a smaller firm never makes it to the bidding stage.

This matters more in infrastructure than almost anywhere else in procurement, because of how these projects are actually delivered. A large motorway or water-treatment concession is never built by a single prime contractor working alone, but by a pyramid of subcontractors several layers deep, many of them small, specialised, and regionally rooted. A turnover bar set arbitrarily high at the top of the tender doesn’t just filter the prime bidder, it indirectly constrains how far down that pyramid the eventual winner can afford to reach, and how many of those smaller firms can access the working capital needed to participate at all. Capping the bar at 50% doesn’t hand an SME the capital it always needs, nor does it change the fact that a firm still has to be creditworthy enough to get bonded in the first place. But this new rule does remove one specific, avoidable barrier: a turnover bar set well above what the actual contract risk justifies.

Security of supply now has a price tag

For contracts touching upon entities a Member State has formally identified as critical – under the EU’s existing Critical Entities Resilience Directive across sectors the proposal names explicitly: energy, transport, health, digital infrastructure, water, food and agriculture, financial-market infrastructure – public buyers are now expected to write resilience and security-of-supply requirements directly into the contract itself. The text is specific about what that can mean in practice: diversification of the supply chain, a multi-source sourcing approach, geographic diversification of production, explicit limits on dependency on a single third country or a single third-country operator, certification demonstrating that a tenderer’s supply chain can actually maintain continuity under stress.

Under the new rules, the public buyer can require the winning bidder to show, in writing, a multi-source plan or a certified continuity arrangement, turning the policy concern into a specific, auditable obligation sitting inside the contract itself.

Picture what this looks like on an actual project – say, a grid operator awarding a contract to upgrade transmission infrastructure, where a large share of the specialised transformers and components available on the market come from a small number of suppliers concentrated in one non-EU country. Before this provision, a public buyer evaluating that tender had no specific legal hook requiring the bidder to document how it would keep the project running if that supplier relationship broke down due to a trade dispute, an export restriction, or a company going under. The concern existed, but it lived in strategy documents such as the EU Economic Security Strategy and sector-specific white papers: material a credit analyst might read for context, but would not find among the actual legal terms of the deal being financed. Under the new rules, the public buyer can require the winning bidder to show, in writing, a multi-source plan or a certified continuity arrangement, turning the policy concern into a specific, auditable obligation sitting inside the contract itself.

That distinction matters financially in a very direct way: a lender doesn’t underwrite a strategy document, it underwrites a contract. Once a documented sourcing-diversification obligation sits inside the legal terms, a bank evaluating the deal has something concrete to check against – proof of a second supplier, a certified continuity plan – rather than having to independently assess supply-chain risk itself and price in uncertainty. A concession carrying that documentation is, in credit terms, a genuinely different instrument from one that doesn’t, holding the underlying demand and cost risk equal.

A diversified supply chain – a second, more expensive supplier kept on standby, components sourced from a costlier but less concentrated market – typically costs more upfront than the cheapest available option.

None of this is free, however, and the trade-off runs in the same direction as it does with European preference. A diversified supply chain – a second, more expensive supplier kept on standby, components sourced from a costlier but less concentrated market – typically costs more upfront than the cheapest available option, as the cheapest option is often cheapest precisely because it is concentrated in one place. That additional cost doesn’t disappear once it is written into the contract; it gets financed like everything else in this piece – priced into the debt and ultimately recovered from whoever pays for the project over its lifetime.

Fewer blind spots in concession public contracts

When a public authority – a national, regional or local government, or a public body like a water utility – wants, let’s say, to build a motorway, there are two main ways it can pay for it: The public authority can pay the constructor a fee, like it does when it buys anything else – straightforward, but it means the public authority carries the full risk if the project goes wrong. Or the public authority can let a private company build it, and that private company then collects money directly from the people who use it – in the form of tolls, water bills, parking fees etc. – for years or decades, keeping that revenue for itself. This second arrangement is called a concession and it’s how a huge share of Europe’s infrastructure actually gets financed. For this to work, someone has to decide who absorbs the loss if the revenue collected doesn’t end up covering the costs of building and running the infrastructure. This is what EU law calls ‘operating risk’, and whether a deal carries enough of it is what makes it a concession rather than an ordinary contract.

The current rule, written into a 2014 EU law, says a deal only counts as a concession if there is a real possibility the private company might not get its money back. The law’s own wording is that the company must not be ‘guaranteed to recoup the investments made […] under normal operating conditions’, and that any possible loss must be real, ‘not merely nominal or negligible’. Obviously, infrastructure deals are too varied for a single numeric threshold to capture what ‘enough risk’ looks like across all of them, and EU law has always left the test deliberately flexible. The new Public Procurement Act keeps that flexibility, but closes a few gaps courts have been arguing over.

First, the 2014 text limits its definition of risk to precisely two categories: ‘demand’ and ‘supply’ risk. This bites in practice because not every infrastructure deal’s risk looks like classic demand risk (e.g. will enough drivers use the road?) or supply risk (e.g. will inputs cost more than expected?). Some concessions are structured so the operator’s payment depends on whether the asset is actually available and usable, regardless of how many people use it. Others turn on whether the operator hit contracted quality or service standards, or on whether equipment and systems performed as specified. None of that maps cleanly onto ‘demand’ or ‘supply’. The new text replaces this binary wording with an open list of risks, explicitly framed as non-exhaustive but illustrative: demand, revenue, cost, availability, technical conditions, performance. This sharpens the definition of what counts as risk in the first place, but it leaves the separate question – how much of it is enough – untouched, and this is exactly where the following change comes in.

This prevents the public buyer dressing up a contract to look risk-heavy through clauses unrelated to the actual infrastructure, in order to qualify for concession treatment without genuinely transferring the operational risk that concession status is supposed to reflect.

Second, the Act adds a threshold with no equivalent in the 2014 text: the risk transferred must be one ‘to which the public buyer would be exposed if it was to execute the works or perform the services itself’. That is, a risk only counts as genuine operating risk if it’s the kind of exposure inherent to actually running the infrastructure; the kind the state itself would face if it did the job directly. That would filter out risks a contract assigns to the concessionaire that have nothing to do with running the service itself – a currency-risk clause, say, tied to how the private operator chose to finance its own participation, rather than to anything about operating a toll road or a water utility. This prevents the public buyer dressing up a contract to look risk-heavy through clauses unrelated to the actual infrastructure, in order to qualify for concession treatment without genuinely transferring the operational risk that concession status is supposed to reflect.

A documented risk assessment means that if a competitor challenges the award, or if an auditor asks whether public money was handled properly, the authority has a paper trail showing how it reached its decision. 

Third, a risk assessment is now required before the contract is awarded. Public authorities must identify the main risks and record how they’re split between the parties, rather than leaving that question to be worked out later if a dispute arises. A documented risk assessment means that if a competitor challenges the award, or if an auditor asks whether public money was handled properly, the authority has a paper trail showing how it reached its decision. And from the side of the private sector, a documented risk assessment gives a lender an actual reference point for how risk was allocated, so they no longer have to infer it from the contract’s wording and hope a court will read it the same way later – which is exactly the kind of uncertainty that gets built into the interest rate as a margin of safety.

By banning hidden backstops outright, the rule also creates a level playing field: a company expecting a tacit bailout can bid more aggressively than one which prices in real risk, and win the contract for reasons that have nothing to do with who would actually build or run the road better.

The idea that a concession’s length should roughly coincide with the time needed to recover the investment already existed, with durationestimated up front on the basis of expected demand, costs, and a reasonable return. What’s new is an explicit statement that this estimate cannot come with a built-in safety net (e.g. an automatic extension or a revenue top-up) ‘result[ing] in a guarantee that the concessionaire will obtain a predetermined or minimum return’, closing off the workaround where a ‘concession’ behaves like a government-backed loan. As such, off-balance-sheet liabilities that only surface years later as a fiscal problem are more adequately prevented. By banning hidden backstops outright, the rule also creates a level playing field: a company expecting a tacit bailout can bid more aggressively than one which prices in real risk, and win the contract for reasons that have nothing to do with who would actually build or run the road better.

This makes it harder for a contract to be gradually rewritten in ways that would have looked bad, or been challenged, if the changes were made all at once and out in the open. 

The cap on how much a contract can be modified without a fresh competitive process – 50% of the initial value – already existed. But a new rule is introduced: once the cumulative value of modifications (even when they individually amount to less than 50%) crosses 50% of the original contract, the authority must publish a justification for the total change. This doesn’t reopen competition in itself, but it is aimed at catching contracts that get rebuilt on the quiet through a series of small, technically legal steps, where no single step is big enough to require a new procedure but the sum of them substantively is. This makes it harder for a contract to be gradually rewritten in ways that would have looked bad, or been challenged, if the changes were made all at once and out in the open. Through this archive, companies that want to do business with the state can also see how similar contracts have actually been renegotiated after award and decide accordingly, instead of tendering into a market where specific players manage to subtly expand their deals well beyond what they originally won.

Candidate countries get a seat at the table

The Act extends the same ‘covered economic operator’ status that determines who gets EU procurement rights to candidate countries that have concluded the relevant agreement with the Union – meaning operators, goods, services, and works from those countries would be treated as covered, on the same footing as GPA parties or free-trade-agreement partners, rather than facing the exclusion the Act applies elsewhere to non-covered third countries. As of today, that’s a list of nine: Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Georgia, Moldova, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Serbia, Türkiye, and Ukraine. Kosovo isn’t on that list; it remains the only ‘potential candidate’, one formal rung below candidate status. A footnote buried in the proposal’s financial-impact annex extends the same general framing to ‘candidate countries and, where applicable, potential candidates from the Western Balkans’. Recital 32 frames the broader move explicitly as a tool of enlargement policy, stating that the approach reflects ‘the perspective of enlargement and the gradual integration of candidate countries into the Union’s internal market’, intended to support closer economic integration, encourage regulatory alignment, and strengthen the application of EU rules and standards in its immediate neighbourhood.

Here, the infrastructure angle gets genuinely interesting, because procurement access for candidate countries wins points for the EU in the race to finance and build infrastructure in the Western Balkans. Estimates of China’s regional footprint vary by source and methodology, but they consistently run into the tens of billions. Montenegro’s Bar-Boljare highway remains the sharpest single case study: an €800-million-plus loan from China’s Exim Bank financed 85% of the project’s first phase, and by the time repayments came due, Montenegro’s public debt had climbed above 100% of GDP; this is precisely the kind of dependency and fiscal exposure this Act’s security-of-supply provisions are explicitly designed to guard against. Serbia’s ties run in a similar direction, with Chinese financing and construction embedded across rail links, mining, and industrial assets – over €10 billion in investment and a comparable amount in loans and grants since 2009 – layered on top of a long-standing reliance on Russian gas that has repeatedly complicated Belgrade’s balancing act between Brussels and Moscow. It is worth keeping a sense of proportion with regard to the EU’s own position, too: across the region as a whole, the EU remains by far the larger economic partner, accounting for 70% or more of trade and foreign investment even in Serbia, the country most exposed to Chinese capital. But dominance in aggregate hasn’t stopped China from becoming the financier of choice for precisely those high-visibility, politically salient infrastructure projects that shape how a government’s population experiences EU versus non-EU partnership day to day. Extending genuine EU procurement rights to candidate-country firms and, eventually, opening EU-financed infrastructure tenders to their participation, is one of the more concrete tools available for shifting that calculus.

This is yet another preview of EU membership itself – a tangible, working demonstration, years before accession is likely to conclude, of the kind of access that’s supposed to make joining worth the long and often frustrating road to get there.

It’s worth being precise about what ‘winning points’ actually means, because this framework pulls in two different directions. One direction is about dependency at home: whether a Balkan government’s next highway or power plant gets built by a Chinese state-owned contractor on an opaque Exim Bank loan, or through an EU-governed procurement process instead. Covered status doesn’t decide that outcome on its own – Belgrade and Podgorica still choose their own financiers – but it does make it easier and more attractive for local firms to bid into the EU’s own financed pipeline rather than defaulting to whichever financier shows up first with cash and no due-diligence strings attached – which has historically been China more often than the EU. The other direction is about market access outwards: covered status gives a Bosnian or Albanian construction firm the same formal right to bid on infrastructure tenders inside the EU-27 that a French or German firm already has, opening a far larger addressable market to companies that have been confined to small domestic economies. This is yet another preview of EU membership itself – a tangible, working demonstration, years before accession is likely to conclude, of the kind of access that’s supposed to make joining worth the long and often frustrating road to get there.

 

Die Instrumente der Ökonomik sind kontraproduktiv, um gegen die existenziellen Risiken der Künstlichen Intelligenz anzugehen., Künstliche Intelligenz (KI) kann die Welt zum Besseren verändern wie keine Technologie zuvor. Gleichzeitig ist sie dabei, zur größten existenziellen Bedrohung zu werden, die die Menschheit je erfahren hat. Die derzeit kursierenden Vorschläge, diese Gefahr zu reduzieren, sind völlig unzureichend. ...

Zusammenfassung:

Nach dem Sieg der Partei Die Linke bei den Landtagswahlen in Berlin spielt die Vergesellschaftung großer Wohnungsunternehmen in den Gesprächen über die nächste Landesregierung eine zentrale Rolle. In Berlin fehlen Wohnungen, und die Mieten steigen seit Jahren. Die Linke fordert daher eine Vergesellschaftung großer Wohnungsunternehmen. Was dies den Landeshaushalt kosten würde, hängt von der Höhe der Entschädigung und künftiger Mieten ab. In der vorliegenden Studie werden Szenarien mit Entschädigungssummen zwischen acht und 29 Milliarden Euro und unterschiedlichen Mieteinnahmen berechnet. Selbst bei einer Miete von acht Euro pro Quadratmeter, was in etwa dem heutigen Mietniveau in den Beständen entspricht, müsste der Landeshaushalt ab einer Entschädigungshöhe von 21 Milliarden Euro jährlich Millionenbeträge zuschießen, bei niedrigeren Mieten steigen die Zuzahlungen entsprechend. Nicht nur die Belastungen für den Landeshaushalt wären enorm, auch die Wirkungen auf den Wohnungsmarkt wären verheerend. Die Vergesellschaftung schafft keinen zusätzlichen Wohnraum und würde Investoren verschrecken. Damit wirkt sie sowohl auf das Angebot als auch auf die Nachfrage in die falsche Richtung: Das Angebot dürfte weiter schrumpfen, die Nachfrage wegen der günstigeren Mieten aber steigen.

Bonn, 5. Oktober 2026. Ernährungssysteme müssen gesunde und erschwingliche Ernährung gewährleisten. Doch wie? Die Antwort liegt im „Reverse Engineering“ – vom Teller aus rückwärts durch Produkte, Wertschöpfungsketten und über geografische Grenzen hinweg.

Anlässlich des Welternährungstags ruft die FAO dazu auf: „Heute innovativ sein. Morgen ernähren“ – indem wir zukunftsorientierte Lösungen mit traditionellem Wissen verbinden, um vielfältige, sichere und nährstoffreiche Ernährung innerhalb der planetarischen Grenzen zu gewährleisten. Der Zeitpunkt ist bezeichnend: Wenige Wochen zuvor hatte der Bericht der Vereinten Nationen „State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World (SOFI) 2026“ aufgezeigt, warum diese Verbindung so wichtig ist. Der weltweite Hunger ist zum dritten Mal in Folge zurückgegangen, doch etwa jeder Dritte kann sich nach wie vor keine gesunde Ernährung leisten. Nicht, weil wir zu wenig produzieren: Unsere Systeme machen nährstoffreiche, nachhaltige Ernährung zum Privileg statt zur erschwinglichen Standardoption.

Das ist nichts Neues. Im Dezember 2025 wurde in dieser Kolumne argumentiert, dass die Agrarpolitik über Produktionsanreize hinausgehen und einen stärkeren Schwerpunkt darauf legen sollte, nachhaltige Ernährung zugänglich zu machen. Der diesjährige SOFI-Bericht greift dieses Argument direkt auf und belegt, wie weit die aktuelle Politik von diesem Ziel entfernt ist – und warum „Reverse Engineering“ eine Antwort bietet.

Entscheidend ist nicht nur, wie viel Nahrung produziert wird, sondern ob daraus eine Ernährung entsteht, die sich die Menschen leisten können und die sie auch essen möchten. Statt von einer Technologie auszugehen und auf veränderte Essgewohnheiten zu hoffen, beginnt „Reverse Engineering“ mit dem gewünschten Ergebnis – einer gesunden, nachhaltigen, erschwinglichen und kulturell angemessenen Ernährung – und arbeitet von dort rückwärts über Produkte, Wertschöpfungsketten und Regionen.

Auf der Produktebene müssen Lebensmittel nährstoffreich und erschwinglich sein. Laut SOFI-Bericht machen tierische Lebensmittel, Obst und Gemüse fast 70 % der Kosten einer gesunden Ernährung aus: stärkehaltige Grundnahrungsmittel liefern zwar günstig Kalorien, reichen für eine vielfältige Ernährung jedoch nicht aus. Reverse Engineering setzt bei dieser Lücke an. Viele Kulturen und Küchen nutzen bereits Pilze, Insekten und Algen sowie fermentierte Lebensmittel, die billiger und nachhaltiger sind als industriell hergestellte oder tierische Proteine. Biofortifizierte orangefleischige Süßkartoffeln folgen derselben Logik bei Mikronährstoffen: Gezielt gegen dokumentierten Vitamin-A-Mangel gezüchtet, könnten sie die damit verbundene Krankheitslast in Subsahara-Afrika um bis zu 41 % senken.

Entlang der Wertschöpfungskette verschärft sich das Problem der Erschwinglichkeit noch weiter. Verarbeitung, Lagerung, Transport und Großhandel machen 70 bis 75 % des Verbraucherpreises aus, was bedeutet, dass die Erschwinglichkeit also eher nach als auf dem Bauernhof entschieden wird. Reverse Engineering bedeutet hier, nachzuverfolgen, wie jede Stufe die Verbraucherpreise beeinflusst und wer die Kosten trägt, die sich darin nicht widerspiegeln. Laut einer Studie von 2026 zu ostafrikanischen Kaffee-Wertschöpfungsketten machen versteckte Kosten – vor allem das den Kleinbauern vorenthaltene Einkommen – 70–125 % des Erzeugerpreises aus. Ein True-Cost-Accounting-Ansatz macht sichtbar, dass solche Kosten oft woanders bezahlt werden, etwa von Gesundheitssystemen oder der Umwelt. Die Reaktion hängt dann davon ab, wo sie entstehen: Lücken zum existenzsichernden Einkommen erfordern eine Vergütung der Produzenten, Umweltschäden andere Maßnahmen.

Auf geografischer Ebene verlagert sich das Ziel von Erschwinglichkeit zu Resilienz: Schocks abfedern, ohne dass die Preise in die Höhe schnellen. Reverse Engineering geht hier von lokaler ökologischer Tragfähigkeit und Klimarisiken aus und plant rückwärts – hin zu klimaresilienten Kulturpflanzen, Kreislaufinfrastruktur und Handelsintegration, die Angebot – und Preise – stabil halten, wenn Schocks eintreten. Das UN-Expertengremium für Ernährungssicherheit und Ernährung (HLPE-FSN) nennt dies „Bouncing Forward“ statt „Bouncing Back“: die Neugestaltung der Struktur, sodass Schocks nicht mehr zu Preisspitzen führen. Genau das tat Belo Horizonte in Brasilien 1993: Nach einer Wirtschaftskrise mit stark steigenden Lebensmittelpreisen ersetzte die Stadt die Krisenmaßnahmen durch eine strukturelle Politik des Rechts auf Nahrung mit Preisobergrenzen und Direktverkäufen vom Landwirt an den Verbraucher.

Nichts davon funktioniert, wenn die Zielernährung für Menschen festgelegt wird statt gemeinsam mit ihnen. Essgewohnheiten werden durch das Lebensmittelumfeld geprägt – was in der Nähe angebaut, verkauft, erschwinglich und sichtbar ist. Zudem sind in den meisten Teilen der Welt die Haushalte, die als „Verbraucher“ gesünderer Ernährung angesprochen werden, zugleich die Produzenten im selben System.

„Heute innovieren, morgen ernähren“ gelingt nur, wenn Innovation heißt, das System auf allen Ebenen gemeinsam neu zu gestalten. Ernährungssysteme per Reverse Engineering umzubauen – ausgehend von der Ernährung, die wir tatsächlich brauchen, rückwärts durch die Wertschöpfungsketten, eingebettet in lokale Gegebenheiten – ist langsamer und weniger fotogen als ein verkündeter Durchbruch. Doch genau das schließt die Lücke zwischen dem, was wir produzieren, und der nachhaltigen, vielfältigen Ernährung, die sich die Menschen leisten können.

Bonn, 5. Oktober 2026. Ernährungssysteme müssen gesunde und erschwingliche Ernährung gewährleisten. Doch wie? Die Antwort liegt im „Reverse Engineering“ – vom Teller aus rückwärts durch Produkte, Wertschöpfungsketten und über geografische Grenzen hinweg.

Anlässlich des Welternährungstags ruft die FAO dazu auf: „Heute innovativ sein. Morgen ernähren“ – indem wir zukunftsorientierte Lösungen mit traditionellem Wissen verbinden, um vielfältige, sichere und nährstoffreiche Ernährung innerhalb der planetarischen Grenzen zu gewährleisten. Der Zeitpunkt ist bezeichnend: Wenige Wochen zuvor hatte der Bericht der Vereinten Nationen „State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World (SOFI) 2026“ aufgezeigt, warum diese Verbindung so wichtig ist. Der weltweite Hunger ist zum dritten Mal in Folge zurückgegangen, doch etwa jeder Dritte kann sich nach wie vor keine gesunde Ernährung leisten. Nicht, weil wir zu wenig produzieren: Unsere Systeme machen nährstoffreiche, nachhaltige Ernährung zum Privileg statt zur erschwinglichen Standardoption.

Das ist nichts Neues. Im Dezember 2025 wurde in dieser Kolumne argumentiert, dass die Agrarpolitik über Produktionsanreize hinausgehen und einen stärkeren Schwerpunkt darauf legen sollte, nachhaltige Ernährung zugänglich zu machen. Der diesjährige SOFI-Bericht greift dieses Argument direkt auf und belegt, wie weit die aktuelle Politik von diesem Ziel entfernt ist – und warum „Reverse Engineering“ eine Antwort bietet.

Entscheidend ist nicht nur, wie viel Nahrung produziert wird, sondern ob daraus eine Ernährung entsteht, die sich die Menschen leisten können und die sie auch essen möchten. Statt von einer Technologie auszugehen und auf veränderte Essgewohnheiten zu hoffen, beginnt „Reverse Engineering“ mit dem gewünschten Ergebnis – einer gesunden, nachhaltigen, erschwinglichen und kulturell angemessenen Ernährung – und arbeitet von dort rückwärts über Produkte, Wertschöpfungsketten und Regionen.

Auf der Produktebene müssen Lebensmittel nährstoffreich und erschwinglich sein. Laut SOFI-Bericht machen tierische Lebensmittel, Obst und Gemüse fast 70 % der Kosten einer gesunden Ernährung aus: stärkehaltige Grundnahrungsmittel liefern zwar günstig Kalorien, reichen für eine vielfältige Ernährung jedoch nicht aus. Reverse Engineering setzt bei dieser Lücke an. Viele Kulturen und Küchen nutzen bereits Pilze, Insekten und Algen sowie fermentierte Lebensmittel, die billiger und nachhaltiger sind als industriell hergestellte oder tierische Proteine. Biofortifizierte orangefleischige Süßkartoffeln folgen derselben Logik bei Mikronährstoffen: Gezielt gegen dokumentierten Vitamin-A-Mangel gezüchtet, könnten sie die damit verbundene Krankheitslast in Subsahara-Afrika um bis zu 41 % senken.

Entlang der Wertschöpfungskette verschärft sich das Problem der Erschwinglichkeit noch weiter. Verarbeitung, Lagerung, Transport und Großhandel machen 70 bis 75 % des Verbraucherpreises aus, was bedeutet, dass die Erschwinglichkeit also eher nach als auf dem Bauernhof entschieden wird. Reverse Engineering bedeutet hier, nachzuverfolgen, wie jede Stufe die Verbraucherpreise beeinflusst und wer die Kosten trägt, die sich darin nicht widerspiegeln. Laut einer Studie von 2026 zu ostafrikanischen Kaffee-Wertschöpfungsketten machen versteckte Kosten – vor allem das den Kleinbauern vorenthaltene Einkommen – 70–125 % des Erzeugerpreises aus. Ein True-Cost-Accounting-Ansatz macht sichtbar, dass solche Kosten oft woanders bezahlt werden, etwa von Gesundheitssystemen oder der Umwelt. Die Reaktion hängt dann davon ab, wo sie entstehen: Lücken zum existenzsichernden Einkommen erfordern eine Vergütung der Produzenten, Umweltschäden andere Maßnahmen.

Auf geografischer Ebene verlagert sich das Ziel von Erschwinglichkeit zu Resilienz: Schocks abfedern, ohne dass die Preise in die Höhe schnellen. Reverse Engineering geht hier von lokaler ökologischer Tragfähigkeit und Klimarisiken aus und plant rückwärts – hin zu klimaresilienten Kulturpflanzen, Kreislaufinfrastruktur und Handelsintegration, die Angebot – und Preise – stabil halten, wenn Schocks eintreten. Das UN-Expertengremium für Ernährungssicherheit und Ernährung (HLPE-FSN) nennt dies „Bouncing Forward“ statt „Bouncing Back“: die Neugestaltung der Struktur, sodass Schocks nicht mehr zu Preisspitzen führen. Genau das tat Belo Horizonte in Brasilien 1993: Nach einer Wirtschaftskrise mit stark steigenden Lebensmittelpreisen ersetzte die Stadt die Krisenmaßnahmen durch eine strukturelle Politik des Rechts auf Nahrung mit Preisobergrenzen und Direktverkäufen vom Landwirt an den Verbraucher.

Nichts davon funktioniert, wenn die Zielernährung für Menschen festgelegt wird statt gemeinsam mit ihnen. Essgewohnheiten werden durch das Lebensmittelumfeld geprägt – was in der Nähe angebaut, verkauft, erschwinglich und sichtbar ist. Zudem sind in den meisten Teilen der Welt die Haushalte, die als „Verbraucher“ gesünderer Ernährung angesprochen werden, zugleich die Produzenten im selben System.

„Heute innovieren, morgen ernähren“ gelingt nur, wenn Innovation heißt, das System auf allen Ebenen gemeinsam neu zu gestalten. Ernährungssysteme per Reverse Engineering umzubauen – ausgehend von der Ernährung, die wir tatsächlich brauchen, rückwärts durch die Wertschöpfungsketten, eingebettet in lokale Gegebenheiten – ist langsamer und weniger fotogen als ein verkündeter Durchbruch. Doch genau das schließt die Lücke zwischen dem, was wir produzieren, und der nachhaltigen, vielfältigen Ernährung, die sich die Menschen leisten können.

Bonn, 5. Oktober 2026. Ernährungssysteme müssen gesunde und erschwingliche Ernährung gewährleisten. Doch wie? Die Antwort liegt im „Reverse Engineering“ – vom Teller aus rückwärts durch Produkte, Wertschöpfungsketten und über geografische Grenzen hinweg.

Anlässlich des Welternährungstags ruft die FAO dazu auf: „Heute innovativ sein. Morgen ernähren“ – indem wir zukunftsorientierte Lösungen mit traditionellem Wissen verbinden, um vielfältige, sichere und nährstoffreiche Ernährung innerhalb der planetarischen Grenzen zu gewährleisten. Der Zeitpunkt ist bezeichnend: Wenige Wochen zuvor hatte der Bericht der Vereinten Nationen „State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World (SOFI) 2026“ aufgezeigt, warum diese Verbindung so wichtig ist. Der weltweite Hunger ist zum dritten Mal in Folge zurückgegangen, doch etwa jeder Dritte kann sich nach wie vor keine gesunde Ernährung leisten. Nicht, weil wir zu wenig produzieren: Unsere Systeme machen nährstoffreiche, nachhaltige Ernährung zum Privileg statt zur erschwinglichen Standardoption.

Das ist nichts Neues. Im Dezember 2025 wurde in dieser Kolumne argumentiert, dass die Agrarpolitik über Produktionsanreize hinausgehen und einen stärkeren Schwerpunkt darauf legen sollte, nachhaltige Ernährung zugänglich zu machen. Der diesjährige SOFI-Bericht greift dieses Argument direkt auf und belegt, wie weit die aktuelle Politik von diesem Ziel entfernt ist – und warum „Reverse Engineering“ eine Antwort bietet.

Entscheidend ist nicht nur, wie viel Nahrung produziert wird, sondern ob daraus eine Ernährung entsteht, die sich die Menschen leisten können und die sie auch essen möchten. Statt von einer Technologie auszugehen und auf veränderte Essgewohnheiten zu hoffen, beginnt „Reverse Engineering“ mit dem gewünschten Ergebnis – einer gesunden, nachhaltigen, erschwinglichen und kulturell angemessenen Ernährung – und arbeitet von dort rückwärts über Produkte, Wertschöpfungsketten und Regionen.

Auf der Produktebene müssen Lebensmittel nährstoffreich und erschwinglich sein. Laut SOFI-Bericht machen tierische Lebensmittel, Obst und Gemüse fast 70 % der Kosten einer gesunden Ernährung aus: stärkehaltige Grundnahrungsmittel liefern zwar günstig Kalorien, reichen für eine vielfältige Ernährung jedoch nicht aus. Reverse Engineering setzt bei dieser Lücke an. Viele Kulturen und Küchen nutzen bereits Pilze, Insekten und Algen sowie fermentierte Lebensmittel, die billiger und nachhaltiger sind als industriell hergestellte oder tierische Proteine. Biofortifizierte orangefleischige Süßkartoffeln folgen derselben Logik bei Mikronährstoffen: Gezielt gegen dokumentierten Vitamin-A-Mangel gezüchtet, könnten sie die damit verbundene Krankheitslast in Subsahara-Afrika um bis zu 41 % senken.

Entlang der Wertschöpfungskette verschärft sich das Problem der Erschwinglichkeit noch weiter. Verarbeitung, Lagerung, Transport und Großhandel machen 70 bis 75 % des Verbraucherpreises aus, was bedeutet, dass die Erschwinglichkeit also eher nach als auf dem Bauernhof entschieden wird. Reverse Engineering bedeutet hier, nachzuverfolgen, wie jede Stufe die Verbraucherpreise beeinflusst und wer die Kosten trägt, die sich darin nicht widerspiegeln. Laut einer Studie von 2026 zu ostafrikanischen Kaffee-Wertschöpfungsketten machen versteckte Kosten – vor allem das den Kleinbauern vorenthaltene Einkommen – 70–125 % des Erzeugerpreises aus. Ein True-Cost-Accounting-Ansatz macht sichtbar, dass solche Kosten oft woanders bezahlt werden, etwa von Gesundheitssystemen oder der Umwelt. Die Reaktion hängt dann davon ab, wo sie entstehen: Lücken zum existenzsichernden Einkommen erfordern eine Vergütung der Produzenten, Umweltschäden andere Maßnahmen.

Auf geografischer Ebene verlagert sich das Ziel von Erschwinglichkeit zu Resilienz: Schocks abfedern, ohne dass die Preise in die Höhe schnellen. Reverse Engineering geht hier von lokaler ökologischer Tragfähigkeit und Klimarisiken aus und plant rückwärts – hin zu klimaresilienten Kulturpflanzen, Kreislaufinfrastruktur und Handelsintegration, die Angebot – und Preise – stabil halten, wenn Schocks eintreten. Das UN-Expertengremium für Ernährungssicherheit und Ernährung (HLPE-FSN) nennt dies „Bouncing Forward“ statt „Bouncing Back“: die Neugestaltung der Struktur, sodass Schocks nicht mehr zu Preisspitzen führen. Genau das tat Belo Horizonte in Brasilien 1993: Nach einer Wirtschaftskrise mit stark steigenden Lebensmittelpreisen ersetzte die Stadt die Krisenmaßnahmen durch eine strukturelle Politik des Rechts auf Nahrung mit Preisobergrenzen und Direktverkäufen vom Landwirt an den Verbraucher.

Nichts davon funktioniert, wenn die Zielernährung für Menschen festgelegt wird statt gemeinsam mit ihnen. Essgewohnheiten werden durch das Lebensmittelumfeld geprägt – was in der Nähe angebaut, verkauft, erschwinglich und sichtbar ist. Zudem sind in den meisten Teilen der Welt die Haushalte, die als „Verbraucher“ gesünderer Ernährung angesprochen werden, zugleich die Produzenten im selben System.

„Heute innovieren, morgen ernähren“ gelingt nur, wenn Innovation heißt, das System auf allen Ebenen gemeinsam neu zu gestalten. Ernährungssysteme per Reverse Engineering umzubauen – ausgehend von der Ernährung, die wir tatsächlich brauchen, rückwärts durch die Wertschöpfungsketten, eingebettet in lokale Gegebenheiten – ist langsamer und weniger fotogen als ein verkündeter Durchbruch. Doch genau das schließt die Lücke zwischen dem, was wir produzieren, und der nachhaltigen, vielfältigen Ernährung, die sich die Menschen leisten können.

Private Vermögen sind zwischen Ost und West sehr ungleich verteilt. Die Kluft droht weiter zu wachsen. Es sei denn, die Politik ändert etwas Grundlegendes., Die vergangenen 36 Jahre waren wirtschaftlich eine große Erfolgsgeschichte für Ostdeutschland, auch wenn häufig der gegenteilige Eindruck vermittelt wird. Beschäftigung, Löhne, Einkommen und Lebensstandard haben sich fast überall im Osten dem Westen angenähert. Zwar liegt das durchschnittlich ...

Die ZSC Lions verlieren zwar erstmals einen Punkt. Aber gewinnen auch ihr achtes Saisonspiel – 3:2-Sieg nach Verlängerung gegen ein ebenbürtiges Lausanne.

Amid democratic backsliding, Generation Z (GenZ1) protests have emerged as major regime challengers. Yet, social movements do not mobilize in isolation. They draw from and collaborate with a larger ecosystem of civil society organizations (CSOs). This policy brief looks at the cases of Kenya and Madagascar, where GenZ movements and CSOs initially played complementary roles. Yet, in Madagascar, the movement parted ways with CSOs quickly after the protests ended. In Kenya, collaboration prevailed, even though frictions appeared in GenZ groups. The brief concludes that social movements draw their legitimacy from acting autonomously from CSOs, the state and donors. Donor support should focus on pro-democratic CSOs who work complementarily and can translate demands into concrete reform proposals.

Amid democratic backsliding, Generation Z (GenZ1) protests have emerged as major regime challengers. Yet, social movements do not mobilize in isolation. They draw from and collaborate with a larger ecosystem of civil society organizations (CSOs). This policy brief looks at the cases of Kenya and Madagascar, where GenZ movements and CSOs initially played complementary roles. Yet, in Madagascar, the movement parted ways with CSOs quickly after the protests ended. In Kenya, collaboration prevailed, even though frictions appeared in GenZ groups. The brief concludes that social movements draw their legitimacy from acting autonomously from CSOs, the state and donors. Donor support should focus on pro-democratic CSOs who work complementarily and can translate demands into concrete reform proposals.

Amid democratic backsliding, Generation Z (GenZ1) protests have emerged as major regime challengers. Yet, social movements do not mobilize in isolation. They draw from and collaborate with a larger ecosystem of civil society organizations (CSOs). This policy brief looks at the cases of Kenya and Madagascar, where GenZ movements and CSOs initially played complementary roles. Yet, in Madagascar, the movement parted ways with CSOs quickly after the protests ended. In Kenya, collaboration prevailed, even though frictions appeared in GenZ groups. The brief concludes that social movements draw their legitimacy from acting autonomously from CSOs, the state and donors. Donor support should focus on pro-democratic CSOs who work complementarily and can translate demands into concrete reform proposals.

Alle registrierten Datennutzer*innen können die neueste Datenedition v42 (DOI: 10.5684/soep.core.v42eu) ab sofort über unser Online-Bestellformular bestellen.   Auf Deutsch: http://www.diw.de/SOEPbestellungAuf Englisch: http://www.diw.de/SOEPorder Die wichtigsten Neuigkeiten für die v42: ...

Alle registrierten Datennutzer*innen können die neueste Datenedition v42 (DOI: 10.5684/soep.core.v42eu) ab sofort über unser Online-Bestellformular bestellen.   Auf Deutsch: http://www.diw.de/SOEPbestellungAuf Englisch: http://www.diw.de/SOEPorder Die wichtigsten Neuigkeiten für die v42: ...

Alessia ist seit 2025 Doktorandin an der Berlin School of Economics und dem DIW Graduate Center und verstärkt unser Team in der Abteilung Kriminalität, Arbeit und Ungleichheit als wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterin. Sie hat ihren M.Sc. in Economic and Social Sciences an der Bocconi-Universität in ...

The following paper has received a distinction in the policy paper competition organized by ELIAMEP’s Turkey Programme, focusing on Turkey’s domestic developments, foreign relations, and socio-political dynamics.

Turkey has long sought to position itself as a regional energy hub through gas infrastructure, exploiting its geographical position between eastern supply and western demand. As decarbonisation and electrification accelerate, this hub agenda is expanding beyond hydrocarbons. This paper assesses Turkey’s emerging ambition to become an “electricity hub” by analysing two relevant projects, asking whether Ankara is extending its corridor-to-hub approach to cross-border electricity corridors, and what this implies for EU-backed corridor priorities. Empirically, it traces two strands of policy: “hub-building” measures that deepen Turkey-centred connectivity and market interfaces, and “hub-defending” measures that challenge bypass routes and political and regulatory risk. It argues that Turkey is seeking to shape the region’s evolving electricity map through a mix of selective cooperation and competitive obstruction, bolstering its strategic relevance while complicating EU efforts to diversify routes and de-risk priority interconnections.

Read here in pdf the Policy Paper by Ioannis Voskidis, Master’s student, Sciences Po (Paris School of International Affairs), Paris.

Ioannis Voskidis is a Master’s student at Sciences Po (PSIA), focusing on energy geopolitics. He holds an MA in European studies from the College of Europe (Tirana campus), and a BA in international Affairs from Panteion University.

Introduction

The energy transition is changing the landscape of energy geopolitics. As electrification accelerates, cross-border electricity infrastructure such as HVDC links, interconnector corridors, converter stations and market interfaces are becoming a central variable rather than a set of purely technical assets, rivalling the importance of hydrocarbon infrastructure.[1] For the EU, this also means that strategic autonomy is no longer only about fuel suppliers, but it increasingly involves critical raw materials, clean-tech supply chains, and the digital infrastructures that operate modern grids. In Europe’s neighbourhood, this shift is already producing corridor competition, with rival routes for exporting “green” power, politically contested maritime spaces, and EU-backed projects whose success depends as much on bankability and geopolitics as on engineering. Interconnectors are increasingly the “arteries” of an electrifying region, and the actor that shapes their interfaces determines which corridors become the default. This makes them a growing focus of attention and contestation between geopolitical actors.[2]

Ankara’s long-standing ambition to be an “energy hub” has traditionally been pursued through natural gas and pipeline corridors connecting producers in the Caspian, Russia and the Middle East to European demand.

Turkey occupies a central position in this emerging regional geography. Ankara’s long-standing ambition to be an “energy hub” has traditionally been pursued through natural gas and pipeline corridors connecting producers in the Caspian, Russia and the Middle East to European demand.[3] This paper asks whether Turkey is now adapting that corridor-to-hub playbook to electricity, and what this means for the EU’s external electricity corridor strategy. It argues that electricity cannot replicate the classic gas-hub model of storage-enabled arbitrage and benchmark price formation, but it can reproduce the core geopolitical logic of routed energy through corridor power: shaping where interconnections are built, under what operational and market rules trade becomes routine, and which gateways become structurally central. Two short case studies highlight why the EU must treat Ankara’s external interconnections as geopolitical corridor choices and design response options accordingly.

Redefining hub leverage

Energy geopolitics is often less about who owns molecules and more about who shapes the routes and interfaces through which energy moves. In hydrocarbons, this logic is amplified by capital-intensive networks with high fixed costs and sunk investments.[4] Once infrastructure is built, pipelines and terminals lock in corridors, create dependence, and can confer bargaining power on states that host or control key infrastructure. As Europe’s energy transition accelerates electrification, a similar question arises for the emerging geography of cross-border electricity: what does it mean to be “central” in this new context.

…it conveys “corridor power”, meaning the ability to influence where interconnection is built, how cross-border capacity is governed, and under which market and regulatory arrangements trade becomes investable, reliable, and routinely usable.

In this paper, an “electricity hub” is defined in an operational, political-economy sense. It does not denote a single benchmark pricing point akin to TTF, nor does it imply control over point-to-point flows comparable to pipeline operations. Rather, it conveys “corridor power”, meaning the ability to influence where interconnection is built, how cross-border capacity is governed, and under which market and regulatory arrangements trade becomes investable, reliable, and routinely usable.[5] In electricity, centrality is therefore less about “owning” electrons than about shaping the geography and functioning of interconnector routes and landing points, as well as the rules that monetise and allocate access, including capacity allocation, congestion management and balancing arrangements.

Electricity interconnections differ fundamentally from hydrocarbon transport, so pipeline-style “corridor” analogies can only go so far.

Electricity interconnections differ fundamentally from hydrocarbon transport, so pipeline-style “corridor” analogies can only go so far. Power flows follow the physics of the grid (loop flows), meaning a transaction on one interconnector can load multiple lines across domestic and third-country networks.[6] As a result, congestion and access are system-wide and state-dependent, and cross-border trades can be curtailed on security grounds even under open access. Moreover, electricity lacks gas-style buy–store–resell dynamics at scale: with storage still limited and costly, trade is constrained by continuous real-time balancing and typically requires deeper operational integration and compatible market rules.[7] Gains from cross-border exchange often accrue primarily to a low-cost origin rather than the “corridor”, and value capture stems less from transit-style fees than from regulated access and scarcity pricing of constrained capacity (e.g., congestion rents). These distinctions are summarised in the table below:

Table 1. Why hydrocarbon hub logic doesn’t map onto electricity interconnections.

 

Dimension Electricity interconnection  

Implication Flow structure Loop flows: transactions spread across parallel lines Effects spill into internal/third-country grids Access under stress System-wide, state-dependent congestion “Open access” is bounded by reliability Intertemporal economics No large-scale buy–store–resell, storage limited/costly Arbitrage logic is weak compared to hydrocarbons Operational discipline Real-time balancing: supply = demand continuously Usable trade needs tight operational coordination Monetisation No transit fee by default, value via regulated access + congestion rents Rents come from scarcity, not per-unit tolls

Compiled by author. Source: Subhes C. Bhattacharyya, Energy Economics: Concepts, Issues, Markets and Governance

Yet the strategic logic of corridors still travels. Interconnectors are high-value, long-lived assets whose location reshapes regional dependence patterns as institutional and infrastructural leverage.[8] They can generate material gains such as cost savings, and renewable integration by expanding balancing options, as well as strategic gains by making a state a necessary partner for trade and long-term planning. These effects are magnified in contested environments where cable landing points, converter stations, and operational interfaces intersect with sovereignty claims and jurisdictional boundaries. In this adapted sense, transit and especially corridor remain analytically useful categories for electricity, while hub should be understood cautiously as shorthand for corridor power rather than as a claim to benchmark price-setting.

Applied to Turkey, the lens translates into two observable policy modes:

• Hub-building: promoting corridor architectures that route new cross-border power exchange through Turkey and embedding them in workable interfaces (interconnection choices, plus governance that makes exchange usable).
• Hub-defending: resisting bypass corridors that would consolidate alternative routes and reduce Turkey’s relevance in the emerging regional electricity map—especially where permitting, survey stages, landing points, and operational interfaces intersect with sovereignty claims.

The next section applies this diagnostic to two cases in order to test whether Turkey’s actions amount to corridor power in practice.

Turkey’s electricity hub strategy: a two-track approach

This section examines how effectively Turkey is translating its long-standing “corridor-to-hub” playbook from hydrocarbons into electricity through the two-track framework of hub-building and hub-defending.

This section examines how effectively Turkey is translating its long-standing “corridor-to-hub” playbook from hydrocarbons into electricity through the two-track framework of hub-building and hub-defending. Two cases operationalise the framework: the Great Sea Interconnector (Greece-Cyprus-Israel), which is the clearest illustration of (mainly) hub-defending dynamics, and the competing “green electricity corridor” agenda in the South Caucasus–Black Sea space, which illustrates hub-building dynamics. Both logics can coexist in practice, but each case foregrounds one mechanism more clearly than the other.

Great Sea Interconnector

The Great Sea Interconnector (GSI) is a planned HVDC submarine interconnector linking Greece (and thus the European grid) to Cyprus and Israel.[9] It has been framed at EU level as a Project of Common Interest (PCI) under the TEN-E framework, reflecting its role in a core EU objective: ending Cyprus’ electricity isolation and enabling the island’s fuller participation in the internal electricity market.[10] From a decarbonisation perspective, interconnection expands the menu of flexibility options for an island system, supporting renewable integration, adequacy and (in principle) lower system costs through trade and diversification. The EU has backed up this prioritisation with substantial support, including a reported €657 million CEF grant for construction and additional EU-backed financing instruments associated with project development.[11] Despite its advantages, the project faces significant domestic resistance in Cyprus. Beyond formal concerns over cost and viability,[12] parts of the electricity-sector debate have reflected opposition from actors worried about the impact of interconnection on the existing market structure, electricity prices and incumbent positions. Incumbents in an oligopolistic electricity market can have incentives to resist reforms that would come with deeper interconnection and competition, which would put downward pressure on prices over time.[13]

Figure 1. The Great Sea Interconnector

 

Source: https://tyndp2024.entsoe.eu/projects-map/transmission/219

From Turkey’s perspective, GSI is not merely an infrastructure project; it is a corridor choice that reconfigures an Eastern Mediterranean electricity route outside Turkish territory and provides no role for the Turkish Cypriot entity. In corridor terms, it reduces Turkey’s prospective centrality as a gateway between the Eastern Mediterranean and the European system by establishing a direct EU-backed route that shifts incentives of connectivity southwards.

From Turkey’s perspective, GSI is not merely an infrastructure project; it is a corridor choice that reconfigures an Eastern Mediterranean electricity route outside Turkish territory and provides no role for the Turkish Cypriot entity.[14] In corridor terms, it reduces Turkey’s prospective centrality as a gateway between the Eastern Mediterranean and the European system by establishing a direct EU-backed route that shifts incentives of connectivity southwards. Turkey’s hub-defending behaviour in the case of GSI is expressed through two mutually reinforcing mechanisms: First, Ankara is advancing a jurisdiction/consent argument, whereby the project cannot lawfully proceed without Turkish approval at those points where the route intersects maritime areas Turkey claims as part of its continental shelf or jurisdictional entitlement.[15] This is embedded in the wider Eastern Mediterranean delimitation dispute and is presented politically as a rejection of regional infrastructure planning that “excludes” Turkey and Turkish Cypriots. Second, Turkey’s posture generates a credible operational disruption risk during some of the most vulnerable phases of project execution (route surveying, permitting, and seabed works), where delays and uncertainty can rapidly translate into higher costs and contract instability. The 2024 Kasos incident in which Turkish naval assets reportedly moved to impede survey activity illustrates this point.[16] Even limited coercive signalling can interrupt technical work and increase the perceived probability of repetition.

Even in this primarily defensive case, a hub-building element is also visible. Turkey has promoted alternative interconnection concepts oriented toward Turkey-centred connectivity for Cyprus (or the island’s northern part).

The key effect is not necessarily permanent prevention but bankability erosion. Where investors, contractors and insurers anticipate recurring contestation, they account for political risk through higher contingencies, tighter contractual protections and longer implementation timelines. This can delay procurement, postpone construction milestones and, in practice, produce a gap between EU “priority” designation and deliverability. Reporting around GSI has linked geopolitical uncertainty to stoppages in surveying and to interruptions in project momentum, including pauses affecting key contractors and payment flows. From an EU perspective, this is a material risk because the Union’s objective depends on a corridor being buildable and operable under stress. Even in this primarily defensive case, a hub-building element is also visible. Turkey has promoted alternative interconnection concepts oriented toward Turkey-centred connectivity for Cyprus (or the island’s northern part).[17] The strategic logic is consistent: delay or complicate a bypass route, while keeping open (or advertising) an alternative architecture that would preserve Turkey’s corridor relevance.

The GSI shows what “hub-defending” looks like in an electricity context. No toll is extracted or price set, but corridor outcomes are shaped by raising execution risk and thereby influencing the feasibility, timing and bankability of a competing interconnection map.

Black Sea interconnector

The Black Sea Connectivity project (often referred to as the Black Sea Submarine Cable) is a proposed HVDC interconnector intended to link Georgia and Romania (Anaklia-Constanța) across the Black Sea.[18] For the participating and associated states (most prominently Azerbaijan, Georgia, Romania and Hungary) the initiative is framed as a platform for exporting renewable electricity from the South Caucasus/Caspian basin, strengthening regional energy security, diversifying supply options, and anchoring a broader package of infrastructure investment and regulatory coordination around the corridor. Institutionally, the project has been formalised through intergovernmental arrangements and the creation of a dedicated project company to advance development. However, the initiative remains less mature than GSI, with delivery horizons commonly placed in the early 2030s; this matters, because projects with long lead times are particularly exposed to substitution by faster or more controllable alternatives.

Figure 2. The Black Sea Interconnector

Source: https://big-europe.eu/publications/2024-10-30-corridors-of-power-the-black-sea-cable-between-azerbaijan-and-europe/

For the EU, the project is a strategic connectivity route serving two primary goals: decarbonisation and—in a post-2022 context—energy security, as future plans would incorporate Moldova and Ukraine. It creates a direct channel for renewable electricity into the Union via Romania and onward toward Central and Eastern Europe.[19] The Commission has embedded the project within the Global Gateway narrative and linked it to regulatory approximation with EU electricity market rules—an explicit attempt to ensure that physical connectivity is paired with market governance compatible with the internal energy market.[20] In EU procedural terms, the project’s promoters have sought Project of Mutual Interest (PMI) status under TEN-E, which would facilitate cross-border governance and prioritisation for corridors that connect the EU with neighbouring regions.[21]

…the Black Sea cable would cement a Romania–Black Sea gateway for South Caucasus electricity into the EU, thereby reducing the strategic logic of routing those same flows through a Turkey-centred corridor.

Turkey has been less publicly confrontational on this file than on GSI, largely because it does not intersect directly with the Eastern Mediterranean sovereignty dispute. Yet the corridor implications are structurally similar: if implemented, the Black Sea cable would cement a Romania–Black Sea gateway for South Caucasus electricity into the EU, thereby reducing the strategic logic of routing those same flows through a Turkey-centred corridor. In corridor terms, the project would “set the map” around a direct maritime interface between the South Caucasus and the EU, rather than a land-based corridor in which Turkey acts as the main operational and political gateway.

Ankara is advancing a competing corridor architecture that seeks to make Turkey the preferred transit interface for South Caucasus electricity into Europe. 

Ankara’s response in this case is therefore best understood as hub-building rather than hub-defending. Instead of relying on legal contestation or operational disruption to block a bypass route, Ankara is advancing a competing corridor architecture that seeks to make Turkey the preferred transit interface for South Caucasus electricity into Europe. Concretely, Turkey has promoted a framework with Azerbaijan, Georgia and Bulgaria which is oriented toward upgrading interconnections and developing the operational/trading arrangements needed to move electricity into the Turkish system and onward through Turkey–Bulgaria—and potentially extending across the Balkans and toward other EU markets.[22] The strategic value of this approach is twofold: it expands Turkey’s role as a regional gateway in a decarbonising neighbourhood, and it embeds prospective export flows within the Turkish network and its associated governance interface.

The competition between these routes is commercial and institutional. A credible Turkey-mediated corridor can weaken the Commission-backed Black Sea gateway by

• offering investors and offtakers a substitute route that reduces expected utilisation and revenue certainty for the submarine-cable project, and
• shifting planning momentum and regulatory cooperation toward a Turkey-facing interface. In this sense, Turkey’s hub-building strategy can indirectly shift the region’s centre of gravity and increase EU exposure to a corridor whose operability and access conditions are shaped by a non-EU actor.

The Black Sea case highlights a distinct mechanism of outcompeting by advancing a corridor that appears more implementable, more politically controllable, or faster to deliver, thereby influencing which corridor becomes the default route for South Caucasus–EU electricity exchange.

Putting the cases together

The broader implication of these two case studies is that several core logics associated with hydrocarbon route geopolitics are already visible in electricity. What changes in electricity is the leverage mechanism. Thus, influence is exercised less through controllable, point-to-point shipment and the collection of transit tariffs and more through the ability to shape the feasibility and bankability of projects (by affecting political and economic risk), their timing (by accelerating preferred routes or delaying rivals), and the governance conditions under which interconnection becomes routinised (operational interfaces, security rules, access under scarcity, and the market arrangements that convert a cable into a functioning corridor). This also determines the ways through which contestation is achieved:

Increase of perceived disruption risk → higher contingencies → delayed surveys/procurement → weaker bankability.

In a system of capital-intensive, path-dependent interconnectors, these mechanisms matter because they determine which corridors become “default” and which are crowded out before they ever materialise.

In a system of capital-intensive, path-dependent interconnectors, these mechanisms matter because they determine which corridors become “default” and which are crowded out before they ever materialise. In this context the EU must assess its external electricity corridors and design response options.

EU implications & policy recommendations

The preceding analysis implies that the EU should treat cross-border electricity interconnectors not only as decarbonisation infrastructure, but also as geopolitical corridor choices that shape the region’s long-run connectivity map. In this setting, the key vulnerability is not simply “dependence on imports”; it is dependence on the political, legal and institutional conditions that make a corridor bankable, buildable and operable. This also fits the EU’s broader resilience agenda, which is shifting from managing single-supplier fuel dependence to monitoring and mitigating strategic dependencies across the technologies and infrastructures of electrification.[23] Given interconnectors’ technical and financial traits, even modest increases in perceived uncertainty can harden financing terms, slow procurement, disrupt construction schedules and redirect system planning towards alternative routes. Where routes are politically contested or where there is a credible risk of disruption, contractors, lenders and insurers price in geopolitical risk through higher contingencies and longer timelines. The EU therefore faces a recurring gap between formal priority designations and practical deliverability. This matters because EU-backed interconnectors involve sunk costs well before any power flows (as the GSI makes clear). Repeated pauses, rerouting or rescoping can strand preparatory expenditure and consume time in a decade where grid bottlenecks are already a binding constraint on decarbonisation.[24] In parallel, corridor competition can reallocate regional centrality away from EU-preferred gateways, pushing Brussels away from designing connectivity on its own terms towards having to adapt to corridors whose operational interface and political conditions are shaped by non-EU actors.

Brussels is already building an industrial and screening toolkit relevant to this corridor challenge, with instruments ranging from the Net-Zero Industry Act and Critical Raw Materials Act to FDI screening and the Foreign Subsidies Regulation aimed at limiting strategic vulnerabilities in the electrified economy. However, measures specifically targeting the project-level risks that determine whether priority corridors are delivered, seem to be missing. In fact, recent disputes over other energy projects in sensitive areas, including the buffer zone in Cyprus,[25] illustrate that geopolitical implementation bottlenecks are not taken into sufficient consideration and often hinder project deliverability.

Against this backdrop, the EU’s response should be framed less as a binary choice between “confronting” or “accommodating” Turkey (and other actors) and more as corridor governance under contestation, which could be useful in other areas as well. Key policy recommendations include:

1. a) Financially de-risking the delivery of EU-priority corridors (making “bankability” a funded deliverable). Where the EU has already designated projects as strategic (TEN-E/PCI) and committed grant money (CEF/RRF), it should establish concrete disbursement milestones. By employing stage-gated sequencing (survey → permitting → procurement → construction) with milestone-based disbursement and procurement terms that explicitly price disruption, the EU can ensure that disruption does not automatically fatally undermine bankability. This approach would provide EU instruments with the confidence required to sustain financial support through extended development cycles.
2. b) Coalition-building around shared corridor benefits. To reduce corridor vulnerability, the Commission should widen the set of actors who pay a reputational and financial cost if implementation stalls. Operationalise this through implementation compacts that bind third beneficiary states, TSOs, regulators and financiers to a shared timetable, defined escalation channels, and pre-agreed responses to permitting or maritime disruption.
3. c) Pursuing managed interoperability with Turkey on EU terms. Given the geography and existing links, Turkey will remain relevant for regional flows. The question is whether that relevance is predictable or discretionary. The EU should focus cooperation on a narrow set of operational rules that make cross-border exchange routine and contestation-resistant. Concretely, this means working through TSOs/regulators so that day-to-day operability cannot be turned into political leverage. A separate EU–Turkey technical dialogue on Eastern Mediterranean electricity connectivity could also help reduce escalation risks. Such a channel could focus on practical issues without giving Ankara a veto over the GSI route or reopening the discussion on the project’s legal basis, while keeping the Crete–Cyprus section as an EU-backed priority and avoiding any implication of recognition of Cyprus’s occupied north.
4. e) Providing maritime assurance for lawful survey and maintenance (reducing the security premium). For (mainly) offshore corridors, bankability hinges on whether surveys, cable-laying and maintenance can proceed predictably. The EU and participating member states should therefore complement efforts with maritime security measures. A coordinated presence to ensure the safety of civilian vessels conducting lawful works is necessary.

In sum, the EU’s best defence is to convert emerging corridor politics into a rules-based connectivity strategy: de-risk delivery, broaden coalitions, engage Turkey pragmatically on operability, and preserve route optionality so that interconnection remains feasible, bankable and governable even in contested geopolitical environments.

Conclusion

For the EU, the implication is that “priority” labels and funding are necessary but insufficient. External interconnectors should be treated as geopolitical corridor choices whose deliverability depends on geopolitical conditions, too. EU strategy therefore needs to develop a corridor governance that is reliable under contestation.

As electrification becomes central to the EU’s strategic energy autonomy, the politics of interconnection will increasingly determine whether decarbonisation reduces vulnerability or simply shifts it to new chokepoints and dependencies. Where interconnectors are built, how quickly they become deliverable, and under what governance arrangements cross-border exchange is organised will increasingly shape the region’s strategic landscape and become a focal point of geopolitical competition.[26] Accordingly, Turkey’s long-standing effort to translate geography into energy centrality is already extending beyond hydrocarbons, with electricity corridors now being incorporated into Ankara’s strategic calculus. The two cases show how Turkey is adapting a familiar corridor-to-hub goal to electricity. In the Eastern Mediterranean, GSI illustrates corridor-defending via jurisdictional contestation and credible disruption risk, while in the Black Sea, the competition is more about corridor-building and outcompeting. For the EU, the implication is that “priority” labels and funding are necessary but insufficient. External interconnectors should be treated as geopolitical corridor choices whose deliverability depends on geopolitical conditions, too. EU strategy therefore needs to develop a corridor governance that is reliable under contestation.

The geopolitical implications of electricity-corridor politics remain largely underexplored. Future research should therefore examine the concrete forms of leverage that attach to controlling interconnection infrastructure, identify which market-design instruments most effectively “operationalise” corridors in practice, and assess how expanding storage and hybrid system assets could reshape corridor competition as the next decades unfold.

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Mahmoud A., Hammad, Sara Elgazzar, Matevž Obrecht, and Marjan Sternad. “Compatibility about the Concept of Energy Hub: A Strict and Visual Review”. International Journal of Energy Sector Management 16, no. 1 (2022): 4. https://doi.org/10.1108/IJESM-06-2020-0022

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[1] IEA. World Energy Outlook 2025. Paris: International Energy Agency, 2025, 19. https://www.iea.org/reports/world-energy-outlook-2025  License: CC BY 4.0 (report); CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (Annex A).

[2] Tomas Jermalavičius, ed., The Ties That Bind: Energy Connectivity in the Age of Geopolitical Turbulence (Tallinn: International Centre for Defence and Security, April 2026), https://icds.ee/en/the-ties-that-bind-energy-connectivity-in-the-age-of-geopolitical-turbulence/

[3]Mahmoud A. Hammad, Sara Elgazzar, Matevž Obrecht, and Marjan Sternad. “Compatibility about the Concept of Energy Hub: A Strict and Visual Review”. International Journal of Energy Sector Management 16, no. 1 (2022): 4. https://doi.org/10.1108/IJESM-06-2020-0022

[4] Subhes C. Bhattacharyya, Energy Economics: Concepts, Issues, Markets and Governance (London: Springer, 2011), 237. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-0-85729-268-1

[5]Mahmoud A. Hammad, Sara Elgazzar, Matevž Obrecht, and Marjan Sternad. “Compatibility about the Concept of Energy Hub: A Strict and Visual Review”. International Journal of Energy Sector Management 16, no. 1 (2022): 5. https://doi.org/10.1108/IJESM-06-2020-0022

[6] Subhes C. Bhattacharyya, Energy Economics: Concepts, Issues, Markets and Governance (London: Springer, 2011), 409. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-0-85729-268-1

[7] Ibid. 228

[8] Mia Beams, “The U.S. Interconnection Challenge: Why Renewables Are Stuck in Line”, Council on Foreign Relations, October 2, 2025, https://www.cfr.org/articles/us-interconnection-challenge-why-renewables-are-stuck-line

[9] Βασίλης Νάνης, “Great Sea Interconnector: Η σημασία και η δύσκολη συγκυρία του εμβληματικού έργου”, Το Βήμα, 4 Σεπτεμβρίου 2025, https://www.tovima.gr/2025/09/04/explainers/kalodio-elladas-kyprou-i-simasia-kai-i-dyskoli-sygkyria-tou-emvlimatikou-ergou/

[10] Ιbid. 

[11] Ιbid.

[12] Lysandrou Miranda, “Ευλογία ή κατάρα ο GSI για την Κύπρο; Ιστορία, παρασκήνιο, αβεβαιότητες και αναπάντητα ερωτήματα για το μεγαλόπνοο έργο”, Politis, n.d., https://www.politis.com.cy/politis-news/oikonomia/964727/efloghia-i-katara-o-gsi-ghia-tin-kypro-istoria-paraskinio-avevaiotites-kai-anapantita-erotimata-ghia-to-meghalepivolo-ergho

[13] EnergyPress, “Καλώδιο Ελλάδας-Κύπρου: Τα συμφέροντα που δεν θέλουν το έργο”, October 13, 2025, https://energypress.gr/news/kalodio-elladas-kyproy-ta-symferonta-poy-den-theloyn-ergo

[14] Keep Talking Greece, “Ankara Threatens the Electricity Interconnection Greece-Cyprus Project (GSI)”, April 10, 2025, https://www.keeptalkinggreece.com/2025/04/10/turkey-gsi-interconnection-greece-cyprus-threats/

[15] Menelaos Hadjicostis, “EU Irked by Turkish Warnings against Greece-Cyprus-Israel Electricity Cable Link, Cyprus Says”, AP News (Associated Press), April 11, 2025, https://apnews.com/article/cyprus-turkey-greece-undersea-electricity-cable-interconnector-ccce85737cbf99cddd7cf1fa72678771

[16] Harry Aposporis, “Uncertain Future of Greece-Cyprus Great Sea Interconnector Project”, Balkan Green Energy News, September 9, 2025, https://balkangreenenergynews.com/uncertain-future-of-greece-cyprus-great-sea-interconnector-project/

[17] Igor Todorović, “Turkey promoting its alternative to Greece-Cyprus power cable”, Balkan Green Energy News, August 12, 2024, https://balkangreenenergynews.com/turkey-promoting-its-alternative-to-greece-cyprus-power-cable/

[18] Vladimir Spasić, “Azerbaijan, Georgia, Hungary, Romania Establish Firm for Black Sea Interconnector”, Balkan Green Energy News, September 5, 2024, https://balkangreenenergynews.com/azerbaijan-georgia-hungary-romania-establish-firm-for-black-sea-interconnector/

[19] Ibid.

[20] Thijs Van de Graaf, “Corridors of Power: the Black Sea Cable between Azerbaijan and Europe”, Brussels Institute for Geopolitics, October 30, 2024, https://big-europe.eu/publications/2024-10-30-corridors-of-power-the-black-sea-cable-between-azerbaijan-and-europe/

[21] European Commission, Directorate-General for International Partnerships, “Black Sea Connectivity Submarine Electricity Cable”, International Partnerships (Global Gateway), accessed January 25, 2026, https://international-partnerships.ec.europa.eu/policies/global-gateway/black-sea-connectivity-submarine-electricity-cable_en

[22] Igor Todorović, “Turkey Pushing against Rivals for Transmission of Green Electricity to EU”, Balkan Green Energy News, April 7, 2025, https://balkangreenenergynews.com/turkey-pushing-against-rivals-for-transmission-of-green-electricity-to-eu/

[23] European Commission, Commission Staff Working Document, Strategic Dependencies and Capacities, SWD(2021) 352 final (Brussels, May 5, 2021), 35, PDF.

[24] IEA (2025), Grid congestion is posing challenges for energy security and transitions, IEA, Paris https://www.iea.org/commentaries/grid-congestion-is-posing-challenges-for-energy-security-and-transitions  Licence: CC BY 4.0

[25] Cleaver Tom, “Buffer zone solar farm plans hit buffers, both sides silent as to why”, Cyprus Mail, April 3, 2025, https://cyprus-mail.com/2025/04/03/buffer-zone-solar-farm-plans-hit-buffers-both-sides-silent-as-to-why

[26] Kirsten Westphal, Maria Pastukhova, and Jacopo Maria Pepe, Geopolitics of Electricity: Grids, Space and (Political) Power, SWP Research Paper 2022/RP 06 (Berlin: Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik, March 15, 2022), https://www.swp-berlin.org/10.18449/2022RP06/ ; https://doi.org/10.18449/2022RP06

 

 

Over 30 national jurisdictions around the world have adopted a carbon tax. The tax rate is one of the key aspects of the design of carbon taxes, determining environmental effectiveness,
competitiveness, carbon leakage risks and revenue raised. This article sheds new light on the criteria countries use to set the tax rate in their domestic instruments. To do so, we first outline a taxonomy of criteria that governments can use in setting the tax rate and then provide a comparative analysis of the criteria actually used by 13 jurisdictions to set this rate.
We find that empirically driven criteria, such as marginal abatement cost curves (MACCs) and the social cost of carbon (SCC), are rarely used to determine the tax rate. Few countries use
MACCs to set their carbon tax rate and such use is always combined with other criteria. Overall, carbon tax rates are mostly set based on evaluations that transcend purely empirical estimates. In addition, the Nobel Prize-winning idea of the SCC is not used in any documents published by the countries analysed, despite the fact that it can be adapted to suit political preferences. The common description of carbon taxes as instruments that primarily aim to internalise externalities does not reflect their implementation in practice. A corollary of this finding is that scholarship that criticises carbon taxes for embedding a cost-benefit analysis approach to climate policy simply condemns these instruments for being something they are not. Our analysis also indicates that emulation and competition play an important role in setting the tax rate, as governments copy price levels implemented in other jurisdictions or supranational carbon pricing instruments. This has implications for the design of carbon taxes in the current geopolitical situation, as changes in the tax rate in one jurisdiction may spill over into others.

Goran Dominioni is Assistant Professor in Climate Change Law and Policy at the School of Law and Government at Dublin City University

Over 30 national jurisdictions around the world have adopted a carbon tax. The tax rate is one of the key aspects of the design of carbon taxes, determining environmental effectiveness,
competitiveness, carbon leakage risks and revenue raised. This article sheds new light on the criteria countries use to set the tax rate in their domestic instruments. To do so, we first outline a taxonomy of criteria that governments can use in setting the tax rate and then provide a comparative analysis of the criteria actually used by 13 jurisdictions to set this rate.
We find that empirically driven criteria, such as marginal abatement cost curves (MACCs) and the social cost of carbon (SCC), are rarely used to determine the tax rate. Few countries use
MACCs to set their carbon tax rate and such use is always combined with other criteria. Overall, carbon tax rates are mostly set based on evaluations that transcend purely empirical estimates. In addition, the Nobel Prize-winning idea of the SCC is not used in any documents published by the countries analysed, despite the fact that it can be adapted to suit political preferences. The common description of carbon taxes as instruments that primarily aim to internalise externalities does not reflect their implementation in practice. A corollary of this finding is that scholarship that criticises carbon taxes for embedding a cost-benefit analysis approach to climate policy simply condemns these instruments for being something they are not. Our analysis also indicates that emulation and competition play an important role in setting the tax rate, as governments copy price levels implemented in other jurisdictions or supranational carbon pricing instruments. This has implications for the design of carbon taxes in the current geopolitical situation, as changes in the tax rate in one jurisdiction may spill over into others.

Goran Dominioni is Assistant Professor in Climate Change Law and Policy at the School of Law and Government at Dublin City University