Sure A Not

The end of World War II was distinguished by a carefully choreographed scenario that was finalized by the Allies at the Yalta Conference held in February 1945.

During this process, Josef Stalin and Franklin Roosevelt, with Britain and France as little more than spectators, reformatted the borders of the nations of Central Europe. 

These borders survive as designed to this day, albeit for one reason that is hardly ever mentioned: ethnic cleansing.

The previous centuries had witnessed a slow but steady drift east of populations of Germanic culture. Most of these welcomed Adolf Hitler with open arms, but when the tide turned against him practically all, numbering some 12 million, moved back to Germany with the retreating German armies, leaving behind what had become mono-ethnic countries.

The emergence in Central Europe of mono-ethnic nation-states was paralleled by the Cold War. With a potential direct confrontation between the two superpowers coming under the acronym of MAD – mutually assured destruction – the relations between the two became an exercise that was in essence predictable.

Postwar equilibrium

In practice this meant that each superpower acknowledged that its opponent had a core sphere of interest in which its authority would not be interfered with. Thus Washington could deal as it wished with the likes of Chile, Grenada, Panama or Nicaragua if they showed any sign of straying from under America’s umbrella.

Likewise, when the Hungarians in 1956 or the Czechs in 1966 revolted against their Soviet occupier, Washington abstained from providing them with any support.

Events took another turn when one of the two superpowers tried to encroach on its opponent’s turf. When in 1962 the Soviet Union placed some of its missiles in Cuba, the world came close to war until Moscow backtracked and repatriated its missiles.

Conversely, when one superpower would encroach on a borderline state, that is, one that was not fully in the sphere of influence of the other superpower, there would be a response, albeit somewhat muted. Thus when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in 1979, Washington intervened by arming the Afghan resistance but abstained from deploying its own troops in the country. 

For this global equilibrium to function, two requirements had to be met. First, the two superpowers had to be approximately matched militarily. Second, neither of the two superpowers would encroach on the core interests of the other.

What emerged from this world order can be summarized as “strategic predictability.” Granted, there were some occasional hiccups, but these were contained and did not threaten the global balance between the two superpowers. 

Sole superpower

The collapse of the Soviet Union saw Russia lose what amounted to its empire, namely its Soviet “Republics” on one hand, and on the other its Central European client states such as Poland, Hungary and the like.

Ultimately, Russia reverted to what it had been in the last days of the Czarist regime, namely Europe’s least developed nation ruled for centuries by a succession of autocrats with one foot still in the Middle Ages.

As for the borders of the new Russia, these had in essence been inherited from the Soviet Union. As such, they often bore little relevance to historical factors or population origin and had the potential of becoming flashpoints were a crisis to erupt.

 Conversely, the United States emerged as the only remaining superpower: its military unchallenged, its consumer model unmatched and its economic archetype unquestioned.

The collapse of the Soviet Union was an event of such momentous proportions that it would have justified the calling of a new Congress of Vienna. Such an assembly would not only have had to address the question of the borders of Russia and the former Soviet Republics but also issues such as population distribution as well as the security concerns of a potentially resurgent Russian state.

The only nation at the time that could have initiated such a process was the United States. But there was no American Talleyrand. There was only a succession of administrations, from Reagan to Bush to Obama, that mindlessly proceeded on a trajectory inherited from the Cold War – a trajectory that sought to consolidate the position of the United States as the undisputed No 1 potentate of the planet.

Reality breaks

The first test came in Europe. 

 As Yugoslavia came apart, Europe dithered, and it took Washington’s armed intervention, using the tool of NATO, to bring a semblance of peace to the Balkans. America’s Balkan foray carried two lessons.

 The first was that 45 years of Cold War had not sufficed to weld Western Europe into the semblance of a shared political vision that they could implement, on their own turf, by force if needed. 

The second was that the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, which had been conceived initially as a counterweight to the now-defunct Warsaw Pact, had morphed into an instrument of American foreign policy. It was a conjuncture that was not to be lost on Russia’s future leadership.

In the meantime, and off Washington’s radar screen, another contender was slowly emerging: militant Islam. Its guiding force was the Koran and its adepts were the heralds  of a radical Islam that rejected the Western archetype in favor of a faith-based social and political order.

The terrorist attack of September 11, 2001, had a shattering effect on the United States.  The attack, tragic as it may be, was statistically inconsequential. What was not was its psychological impact on a society that had been sheltered from foreign wars; an impact if anything amplified by an administration for which retribution had become a substitute for  policy.

The pre-9/11 balance of power that prevailed in the Middle East ensured that the main contenders would mutually neutralize each other. Iraq was in a state of semi-war with Iran, ensuring that both would focus on the danger represented by the other. Syria, conversely, was at odds with Iraq, and thus sought an alliance with Iran as a counterweight.

It was an alliance of convenience, as the Iraqi and Syrian regimes represented two competing wings of the Baath party that were secular, which put them on a collision course with militant Islam. Thus while both regimes were ferociously opposed to Israel, which put them in conflict with the United States, they were also vehemently opposed to militant Islam, which made them, in objective terms, American allies.  

Within this global archetype, Afghanistan was irrelevant and, except for the Taliban having sheltered al-Qaeda, a minor sideshow.

The American invasion of Iraq, which not only brought down Saddam Hussein but saw his regime replaced by a fragile Shia coalition, shattered this equilibrium, with the main winner being Iran, now bordered by a friendly Iraq and enjoying an open land bridge to Syria and its Hezbollah ally.

Washington’s subsequent attempt to bring down the Syrian regime of Bashar al-Assad through its Gulf proxies floundered, but not before the conflict had generated some 7 million refugees, of whom more than a million moved illegally to Europe.

A somewhat similar pattern developed in North Africa, where Washington orchestrated  the fall of the Muammar Gaddafi regime. With no alternative power available the country sank into anarchy, thus opening the floodgates for illegal emigration from sub-Saharan Africa to Europe.

The crisis in Yugoslavia had illustrated the lack of a coordinated European foreign and defense policy. Having for all practical purpose delegated their defense to Washington, the Europeans found themselves in the same quandary when Russia invaded Ukraine.

Currently Russia has a population of 143 million inhabitants as opposed to the total population of Germany, France, Poland and the UK, which numbers 254 million, not counting 43.7 million Ukrainians. As for per capita GDP, it is in the fifty thousands for the Europeans as opposed to the thirty thousands for Russia.

Thus in terms of both demographic density and industrial production, the Europeans did not need the United States in a potential confrontation with Russia. However, when it appeared that the Europeans were indeed united in their opposition to the Russian invasion, it also emerged that they were incapable of giving practical substance to their common concern. 

The end result was to make the war in the Ukraine a double conflict: within the Russian ecosystem a civil war between Russians of Russian identity and Russians of Ukrainian identity and, in parallel, a proxy war between the United States and Russia, with the Europeans on the sidelines.

In addition to its global economic impact, the Russia-US confrontation in Ukraine has generated a number of parallel sub-conflicts, some overt and some inherent. Thus it falls within reason that a beleaguered Russia would seek to thwart Washington’s designs over Syria or procure cruise missiles from Iran; just like Iran, short of confronting the United States overtly, would do so through its Houthi, Hamas or Hezbollah proxies.

Some 25 years after the demise of the USSR, the war in Ukraine and its global repercussions stand as the most glaring illustration of the catastrophic mismanagement of the post-Soviet era.

And while appropriating blame can be a subjective endeavor, clearly Washington, as the only surviving superpower, did not live up to a level of responsibility that could hopefully, if not somewhat naively, have been expected.

Finally it took American hubris and Vladimir Putin’s warped sense of history to bring the world to its present predicament – a predicament that inescapably hinges on the United States.

That a nation of some 330 million inhabitants, equivalent to barely 4.16% of the world population, is not only the world’s premier economy with a global cultural footprint but also its premier military power, is a reality that does not beg a simple answer, or an answer at all.

End of an era

For such a nation, initially the issue should have been how to manage the transition from having been one of two superpowers to being the only remaining one. Having failed on the first  account, the challenge for Washington today is how to manage an imperial dominance that is increasingly being contested.

For the 20-some years following the collapse of the Soviet Union, the United States enjoyed a level of world dominance unique in history. That era is now ending. And while no single state is liable in the near future to match America’s economic and military superiority, that superiority is now increasingly being questioned both by state actors and by non-state entities.

Currently the United States is involved in three major confrontations with global implications: a war in the Ukraine against Russia, a war against militant Islam, and a politico/economic endeavor to “contain” China.

While these confrontations each have their own distinctive genetic makeup, they have generated a convergence of interests among those who are pitted against Washington. Thus while both China and Russia are at odds with militant Islam, this does not deter Iran, the embodiment of revolutionary Islam, from selling drones to Russia that Putin uses to confront America’s Ukrainian ally.

By the same token, one can wonder whether America’s long-term interests would not be better served by a reasonable combination of a strong Russia, a truncated but stable Ukraine, a Europe whose defense policy within NATO is not held hostage to the United States, and a China left to its own devices, rather than by the present chaos.

An American general once commented that the United States is good at blowing things up but at not much else. The coming decades will show whether the United States can focus on the “else,” were it only because power does not necessarily bring results.

In the meantime, the international community will have to contend with an America whose power exceeds its wisdom in an environment where chaos is the name of the game. Until, the hope is, confrontation will have made room for some degree of partnership, however painful the compromises it will entail.

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In June 2023, Japan revised its national hydrogen strategy that envisages a carbon-neutral “hydrogen society.” Ironically, fulfilling this strategy could increase global greenhouse gas emissions as most of the global supply chains that the Japanese government is creating to import hydrogen rely on fossil fuels.

Rather than a “hydrogen society,” Japan should aim to become a “prudent hydrogen society.” This means using hydrogen that has been produced in the cleanest way possible and only in sectors where it makes the most sense for the climate.

In December 2017, Japan became the first country to formulate a national hydrogen strategy. Since then, over 40 countries have followed suit, prompting Japan to revise its strategy. Tokyo’s updated strategy sets lofty targets. 

The government will spend 15 trillion yen (US$101.4 billion) over 15 years with the goal of using 3 million tons of hydrogen annually by 2030, 12 million tons by 2040 and 20 million tons by 2050. This hydrogen will be used for a range of applications including power generation, mobility, residential and commercial fuel cells, industrial heating and chemicals.

To achieve these targets, the government is relying on a host of technological innovations whose outlook and feasibility are uncertain. Of the countries with hydrogen strategies, only a handful have set such precise targets. Among them, Japan’s are arguably the most ambitious. Tokyo will need to rely on skillful diplomacy if it is to obtain enough hydrogen to meet its targets.

The scale of Japan’s overseas hydrogen-related engagements is breathtaking – spanning at least 17 jurisdictions – with virtually all the projects having been brokered by the government.

In the Middle East, Japan has agreements with the United Arab Emirates energy ministry and oil giant ADNOC, a partnership with Oman’s ARA Petroleum and is currently exploring the possibility of partnering with Saudi Arabia’s Aramco.

In the Asia-Pacific, Japan has prominent agreements with Australian firms and many other countries across the region including Brunei, Indonesia, Malaysia, New Zealand, Thailand, Singapore, Vietnam and ASEAN.

Most of these partnerships will use natural gas or brown coal to produce hydrogen and capture the resulting carbon emissions — so-called “blue” hydrogen. Rosy-eyed policymakers see blue hydrogen as a low-carbon solution, but this is mistaken. Large-scale reliance on blue hydrogen will likely have an enormous impact on the climate.

The prospect of carbon capture, utilization and storage (CCUS) remains grim. Between 1995 and 2018, 78% of large-scale pilot and demonstration CCUS plants failed. 

There are only three commercial-scale hydrogen production facilities with CCUS in the world today and their carbon capture rates are well below 80% of the emitted carbon. This is far from the 90% capture rate that is often cited as a benchmark for blue hydrogen to be considered truly low carbon.

Even if CCUS is improved, it does not reduce blue hydrogen’s methane emissions. Fossil fuel extraction leaks methane, a greenhouse gas (GHG) far more potent than CO2. Methane can leak throughout the value chain, meaning that GHG emissions from blue hydrogen are over 20% higher than simply burning gas or coal for heat and only marginally less than fossil-derived hydrogen without CCUS.

Japan’s hydrogen strategy also ignores blue hydrogen’s downstream emissions. The revised strategy sets a definition for low-carbon hydrogen, but this definition only applies to the value chain up to the hydrogen production facility. 

Yet carbon emissions from the transport and storage of hydrogen will be tremendous in Japan’s global hydrogen supply chains. This is because converting hydrogen gas into liquid form, shipping it to Japan, converting it back to gas once imported and compressing it for storage are all energy-intensive processes that require fossil fuels.

Given these problems, Japan’s hydrogen society could actually increase global GHG emissions. Instead, Japan should use verifiably low-emission hydrogen for end uses that make climate and economic sense. Although renewable hydrogen is unlikely to be completely emissions-free because of long-distance transport and storage, Japan can take additional steps to minimize emissions.

To do so, a two-pronged approach is needed. To begin, Japan should reduce hydrogen use to sectors in which low-carbon hydrogen is truly necessary. Currently, Japan hopes to use hydrogen in applications where electrification would be more logical. 

Experts now agree that hydrogen should be used for hard-to-abate sectors like fertilizer and chemical production, marine and aviation fuels, heavy industry and long-distance transport.

Transport, industry, aviation and shipping and agriculture account for close to 30% of Japan’s overall emissions. By focusing on these sectors, Japan can ensure that its hydrogen supply is clean and impactful.

Japan must also make its definition of low-carbon hydrogen more stringent. Currently, low-carbon encompasses anything under 3.4 kilograms of CO2-equivalent per 1 kilogram of hydrogen. Compared to the European Union Taxonomy, the second Renewable Energy Directive and the United Kingdom Low Carbon Hydrogen Standard, this definition is lax.

Given the sheer volume of hydrogen Japan plans to import and the global scale of its supply chains, it must amend its current definition to at least cover the entire hydrogen lifecycle. It should also tie this standard to all government subsidies and import requirements to ensure private-sector compliance. 

With these policy shifts, Japan can begin to lead the world as a low-emission hydrogen economy in ways that genuinely address the climate crisis.

Walter James is the Principal Consultant at Power Japan Consulting, which offers research, writing, and consulting services relating to Japan’s climate and energy policies. He holds a PhD in Political Science from Temple University and is a former research fellow at Waseda University in Tokyo, Japan.

This article was originally published by East Asia Forum and is republished under a Creative Commons license. https://doi.org/10.59425/eabc.1706004000

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