As El Niño risk returns, Panama is trying to secure the canal’s future. But the fight over the Rio Indio reservoir shows that global trade resilience may come at a local human cost.
The US-Iran memorandum may ease immediate pressure, but renewed uncertainty around the Strait of Hormuz and Israel-Hezbollah exchanges shows that resilience, not normalisation, is now the central issue.
Diversification is useful. Sovereign capacity is better.
Canada’s defence debate is still too often framed as though the central question is which foreign platform to buy. That is too narrow. In a more volatile strategic environment, the more important question is which defence model leaves a country least exposed when one major supplier becomes politically unstable, strategically distracted or commercially restrictive. On that point, Canada has something to learn from three very different cases. The UAE shows the value of layered defence and diversified force design under direct attack. Türkiye shows the long-term strategic value of localisation and domestic arms production. Ukraine shows how wartime pressure can accelerate a country from dependency toward industrial adaptation, counter-drone innovation and exportable defence expertise. Together, they point to the same lesson: resilience does not come simply from buying advanced systems abroad. It comes from building enough capability at home to avoid being trapped inside someone else’s supply chain.¹
The UAE and the value of strategic elasticity
The UAE is useful because it shows what diversification can look like under real pressure. In its official March 2026 briefing, the Emirati government described an integrated, multi-layered air-defence architecture spanning long-, medium- and short-range systems, backed by stockpiles and domestically developed defence industries. The state said its forces destroyed 172 of 186 ballistic missiles, intercepted 755 of 812 drones, and neutralised all eight detected cruise missiles. Whatever caution is always warranted with wartime figures, the public message was unmistakable: survivability came from an ecosystem rather than from one imported shield.²
That ecosystem matters because it extends beyond interceptors and aircraft into industrial depth. EDGE, the UAE’s national advanced-technology and defence group, said in 2025 that more than 80 per cent of its portfolio of over 220 products and solutions is now manufactured in the UAE, across 170 manufacturing and assembly facilities. EDGE has also highlighted localisation of procurement, investment in local supply chains, and the expansion of technical training and smart-manufacturing capacity as part of a wider effort to strengthen sovereign industrial resilience.³ This is what makes the UAE relevant to Canada. Its model is not simply about buying from several countries. It is about using external partnerships to reinforce domestic capacity and reduce long-term dependence.
The same logic extends beyond missile defence into air power more broadly. The UAE did not build its combat aviation around one foreign source alone. It has long operated the F-16E/F Block 60, with Lockheed Martin identifying the UAE as the launch customer for that advanced variant. At the same time, it placed its 2021 order for 80 Rafale F4 aircraft from Dassault, adding a major French pillar to an already mixed air arm. That is not an accidental overlap. It is a strategic choice. A diversified air arm is not simply a matter of platform variety. It widens political room to manoeuvre. A country whose combat capability sits overwhelmingly inside one foreign ecosystem is also more exposed to that ecosystem’s export controls, software dependencies, maintenance priorities and diplomatic leverage.⁴ ⁵
The French dimension sharpens the point. During the March escalation, France deployed Rafale fighters over the UAE to protect French military facilities and personnel there. That did not make France the UAE’s primary security guarantor, nor did it erase the importance of the American presence in the Gulf. What it did show is that the Emirati security environment is not organised around a single external actor alone. French air power was present, relevant and operational in theatre during a moment of stress. Set alongside the UAE’s own layered defensive posture, that illustrates a broader strategic truth: diversified military relationships create more elasticity in crisis than a defence posture tied too tightly to one patron.⁶
That industrial element is also visible in the UAE’s foreign partnerships. In November 2025, EDGE and South Korea’s Hanwha Aerospace signed a memorandum to explore cooperation across advanced air and missile defence, precision strike, unmanned systems and defence AI. The announcement explicitly referred to possible localised sustainment, production, training and dedicated MRO capacity in the UAE.⁷ That is precisely the point. The UAE model is not diversification for its own sake. It is diversification anchored by domestic industrial capacity.
Türkiye and the logic of localisation
Diversification, however, is not enough if maintenance, repair, munitions, software and upgrades remain externally controlled. A country can buy from several foreign suppliers and still remain strategically dependent. That is where Türkiye becomes relevant. Ankara has spent years trying to move from defence importer to defence producer, and Turkish and international reporting now points to a domestic localisation rate in defence above 80 per cent. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s line that Türkiye relies on “the strength of our own arms” is political language, but it captures a serious industrial logic. States that want room to manoeuvre in crisis need more than diverse procurement. They need the ability to build, adapt, repair and scale at home.⁸
That matters for Canada because Türkiye’s lesson is not really about rhetoric. It is about what sustained localisation policy can produce over time. A country that develops its own defence-industrial base gains more than jobs and prestige. It gains bargaining power, endurance and insulation from external political pressure. Domestic production will never remove all dependence, especially for advanced components and high-end electronics, but it changes the balance between reliance and autonomy. It creates strategic depth. The countries best able to absorb international shocks are usually not those that bought the most impressive foreign systems. They are the ones that built enough at home to keep operating when outside support becomes constrained.
Ukraine and adaptation under fire
Ukraine adds a different but equally important lesson. Unlike the UAE and Türkiye, it did not enter this period with a stable model of diversification or a mature localisation strategy. It was forced into accelerated adaptation by full-scale war. Yet that pressure has helped turn Ukraine’s battlefield experience into exportable value. Reuters reported in April that Kyiv is helping Middle Eastern countries including Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the UAE counter Iranian drone threats, and that cooperation agreements on training and defence support have already been signed. Ukraine has also pitched its military technology and air-defence know-how more broadly in the Gulf, while seeking funding and industrial partnerships in return.⁹ ¹⁰
That is significant because it means Ukraine is no longer only a consumer of external support. It is becoming a producer of usable defence knowledge. Reuters also reported that Ukrainian officials trained US personnel in Saudi Arabia to use Ukrainian counter-drone technology, and that Ukraine produced 4.5 million drones last year while continuing to expand output.¹¹ The point is not that Canada should imitate Ukraine’s wartime model. It is that industrial learning, rapid adaptation and sovereign capability can become decisive far faster than peacetime planners often assume.
Ukraine’s relevance to the Gulf also strengthens the wider argument. The same Iranian-origin drone threat family that shaped Ukraine’s wartime adaptation is now driving demand for counter-drone know-how in the Middle East. That gives Ukraine a direct place in the broader defence-industrial story connecting Europe and the Gulf. It also underlines how battlefield innovation can become strategic capital. States that learn quickly under pressure can become valuable partners even if they began from a position of weakness.
Canada’s strategy is moving in the right direction
Canada is now beginning to recognise some of these realities in policy, even if the shift remains incomplete. Ottawa’s 2026 Defence Industrial Strategy adopts a “Build–Partner–Buy” framework and explicitly links defence procurement to sovereign control over operation and sustainment. That is a serious conceptual shift. It suggests that Canada is no longer treating defence acquisition as a sequence of isolated purchases, but as part of a broader industrial and strategic problem.¹
The same logic can be seen in Canada’s submarine competition. In August 2025, the government advanced the Canadian Patrol Submarine Project with Germany’s TKMS and South Korea’s Hanwha identified as the two qualified suppliers. The official framing was notable because it tied the programme not only to capability, but also to training, infrastructure, in-service support and partnerships with Canadian industry across the fleet’s lifecycle.¹² That is precisely the right instinct. Procurement should not simply deliver equipment. It should build national capacity.
Hanwha, in particular, has been aggressive in shaping its Canadian pitch around localisation, workforce development, domestic sustainment and long-term industrial participation. Whether Hanwha wins or not, that is exactly the sort of argument Canada should be forcing bidders to make. The point is not merely to diversify away from one supplier. It is to make diversification meaningful by tying it to in-country repair, maintenance, skills and industrial scale.¹³
The financing piece matters as well. In March 2026, Canada said it was advancing the establishment of a Defence, Security and Resilience Bank, while the Business Development Bank of Canada has also rolled out a C$4 billion Defence Platform to provide loans, venture capital and advisory support to defence-sector firms. This is more important than it may initially appear. Sovereignty in defence is not built only in factories, dockyards and air bases. It is also built in access to capital, the retention of intellectual property and the ability of domestic firms to scale inside national and allied supply chains.¹⁴ ¹⁵
The real lesson
This is where the combined lesson of the UAE, Türkiye and Ukraine becomes useful for Canada. The UAE shows the value of layered defence and diversified supplier relationships under direct attack, but also the importance of anchoring those relationships in a domestic industrial base through institutions such as EDGE. Türkiye shows that diversification is shallow unless it is backed by domestic production and localisation. Ukraine shows that adaptation under fire can produce exportable military expertise, rapid technological learning and new industrial relevance far faster than conventional planners expect. Canada does not need to copy any of these cases exactly. Its geography, alliances and industrial structure are different. But it should absorb the principle they all illuminate from different angles.
The broader strategic point is simple. In a less predictable international order, buying the most advanced platform from the most powerful ally is no longer a sufficient answer to the problem of defence resilience. The real test is what happens when that ally becomes unstable, more transactional or less willing to subordinate domestic politics to alliance management. States that have built diversity into their force design, supplier relationships and industrial base are better placed to absorb that shock. States that have not may discover that technical sophistication and strategic dependence can coexist far more easily than they assumed. For Canada, the lesson is not only to diversify. It is to build enough at home that diversification becomes a source of sovereign strength rather than a thin hedge against someone else’s unpredictability.¹ ³ ⁷ ¹⁴
Tom Balmforth and Pesha Magid, “A Longer Iran Conflict Could Boost Risk for Ukraine Securing Missile Defences, Zelenskiy Says,” Reuters, April 23, 2026.
Tom Balmforth and Pesha Magid, “Zelenskiy Seeks to Develop Security Co-operation After Saudi Visit,” Reuters, April 24, 2026.
Mike Stone, Tom Balmforth, and Pesha Magid, “US Turns to Ukrainian Counter-Drone Tech After Iran Attacks, Sources Say,” Reuters, April 22, 2026.
Dean Mikkelsen is Founder and Editorial Director of Power & Corridors. Based in Abu Dhabi, he focuses on geopolitical risk, maritime security, trade corridors, energy, logistics and critical infrastructure.
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