Ukraine increasingly contributes battlefield-tested designs and operational knowledge, while Britain can provide engineering expertise, industrial capacity, certification, capital and access to international markets
Immigrants have long eased labor shortages on farms and factories in Italy. But churches also need foreign-born priests, like the Rev. Vincent Souly of the Ivory Coast.
Commuters at a train station in Bordeaux, France, during a heat wave in July. Much of Europe’s infrastructure was not built to withstand scorching summer heat.
Etna erupts often, but it usually doesn’t release this much ash, an expert said. Tens of thousands of travelers’ plans have been disrupted in the past week.
Nigel Farage, the right-wing populist leader, forced a by-election in his parliamentary seat of Clacton after he came under pressure over his financial declarations.
With temperatures set to soar as high as 109 degrees Fahrenheit (43 Celsius) this week, Europeans and tourists say that summer in Europe has lost its appeal.
The number of Ukrainian citizens holding temporary protection status in EU countries reached 4.41 million as of 30 June 2026, the highest since the mechanism was activated in March 2022, according to data published by Eurostat on 11 August. The total rose by 24,380 (+0.6%) from the previous month.
The displacement is one dimension of the broader demographic damage that Russia's war is inflicting on Ukraine. The country's population has contracted from over 41 million before the full-scale invasion to roughly 31 million, driven by displacement, war casualties, and a fertility rate that has collapsed to among the lowest in the world. Only 23% of Ukrainian women refugees with children say they plan to return, even if the war ends.
The figure has been edging upward since mid-2023. It crossed 4 million in September 2023, reached 4.2 million by October 2024, and has now hit a new high. New decisions granting protection are now falling: EU countries issued 155,640 in the first quarter of 2026, down 17% from the previous quarter, and 2025's annual total was 14% below 2024's — even as the overall number of people already holding the status keeps rising.
The numbers suggest an accumulation effect: fewer people are leaving the system than are entering it. Cumulatively, EU countries have issued 7.1 million temporary protection decisions since March 2022, meaning roughly 2.7 million of those decisions are no longer active — as people returned to Ukraine, moved on, switched to other residence statuses, or were deregistered.
Germany hosted the most beneficiaries at about 1.29 million (29.2% of the EU total), followed by Poland with roughly 961,000 (21.8%) and Czechia with about 391,000 (8.9%).
Relative to population, the ranking shifts. Czechia recorded 35.8 beneficiaries per thousand residents, followed by Slovakia (27.2) and Cyprus (26.8), against an EU average of 9.8 per thousand.
Protection numbers rose in 24 of 27 EU countries. Italy posted the largest absolute increase (+4,115, or +8.8%), followed by Czechia (+3,835) and Germany (+2,960). Poland was the only country with a significant decrease (-6,335, or -0.7%). Belgium and Ireland posted negligible declines.
The EU just extended shelter for Ukrainians to 2028—with a new catch for military-age men
Ukrainian citizens accounted for over 98.5% of all beneficiaries. Adult women made up 43.4%, adult men 27%, and minors nearly a third (29.6%). The share of adult men has risen from 23% in October 2024, around the time Czech Interior Minister Lubomír Metnar's government pushed for the new military-compliance condition adopted by the Council in August.
The EU's temporary protection mechanism, activated in March 2022, has been renewed annually since. The most recent extension, a Council decision that took effect on 5 August, prolonged the framework to March 2028 while adding a new condition: Ukrainian men of military age applying for the first time must now prove they have met their mobilization obligations, including through Ukraine's Reserve+ app. The June data predates that rule, making it a baseline for measuring its impact.
Rooms were booked years ago, and officials have been making plans. But there’s no telling where, exactly, Icelanders might go to find the best possible view.
A ride from Tangier, the largest city in northern Morocco to the Spanish enclave of Ceuta takes less than two hours. The border crossing has its own, sleepier rhythm, quite different from the tourist-driven bustle of Tangier. In Ceuta, traders run their errands, Morocco-based expats make visa runs and Spanish people catch ferries to the mainland. On most days, the border crossing seems almost ordinary. The fences, though menacing and topped with razor wire, are less imposing up close and officers make small talk with the expats waiting to get their visas stamped.
Then there are those days when the routine collapses and Ceuta becomes the center of Europe’s migration debate.
The territory is a geographic and political paradox. Despite falling under Spain’s — and the European Union’s — jurisdiction, it sits on the northern edge of Africa, surrounded by Morocco and separated from the Spanish mainland by the Strait of Gibraltar. It is an entry point to Europe, yet not fully part of the Schengen zone, requiring additional immigration checks for travelers crossing to the mainland.
When more than 60,000 people — mostly Moroccan men and teenagers — rushed into Ceuta (almost doubling the coastal city’s population), the images reverberated across Europe. There seemed to be no dramatic buildup to the incident, nor any obvious explanation why thousands of people chose that day to make their way to Spain.
Europe’s far-right politicians seized the narrative, portraying the influx as an imminent invasion, warning that the men were on their way to “Calais” and “Germany.” Italy temporarily suspended the Schengen free movement regime with Spain, meaning travellers arriving by sea and air would now be subject to border checks. Spain threatened to take “proportional measures” in response and did so at midnight on August 8, when it imposed similar checks for visitors from Italy.
The standoff between European governments — led by socialist Pedro Sánchez in Spain and conservative Giorgia Meloni in Italy — is not simply a test for European border security. Instead, what transpired in Ceuta poses bigger questions about the shifting nature of state sovereignty itself: How are we to understand borders, if they’re shaped by forces beyond the state’s reach?
Borders are not just lines separating geographic entities. They are systems built on surveillance, diplomatic bargains and digital networks. Ceuta is the place where all three converge. Its borders, already protected by the sea, have been fortified with steel, outsourced through diplomacy and tested by coordinated rumors.
Steel
The crossings into the enclave are blocked by a multi-layered barrier of fences and wire. Morocco administers a fence separating it from the neutral area between the two countries. Two fences on the Spanish-controlled territory follow, creating an enclosure monitored by the Spanish Civil Guard. The physical infrastructure is reinforced with motion sensors, thermal and CCTV cameras, maritime communication systems and facial recognition technology.
Even the sea has now been incorporated into the border system. Just three days after the Ceuta border chaos, Spanish authorities installed a 500-metre floating barrier and anchored naval buoys to create another monitored enclosure.
The EU has funded most of the fortifications. The Border Violence Monitoring Network’s report says that since the construction of Ceuta’s border barrier in the 1990s, the EU has spent tens of millions of dollars to make the Spanish-Moroccan frontier more secure, technologically up-to-date and heavily surveilled. With the recent mass crossing, Spain will now receive additional emergency financial aid.
Yet, the architecture of physical surveillance, built and re-built with European money for decades, cannot prevent the human cost of attempting to cross a border. In Ceuta alone, at least 100 people died according to local authorities. “The rationale behind increasing surveillance is that you'll be able to save lives and smash the [people trafficking] gangs, right?” asked Nathan Akehurst, who has written about Ceuta’s border for Jacobin. “Where was that in this case?”
Diplomacy
Akehurst’s question touches upon the human-centered rationale for heavy border surveillance. But there is also a political one. It is not only Spain, as a EU member, that receives funds to manage migration. Morocco has received €427 million since 2015, for migration-related expenses, including technology and training. That’s part of Europe’s wider strategy of border externalization, a practice where Europe moves border control beyond its own territory.
The practice has been around for decades, but went into overdrive after 2015, when approximately 1.3 million people, mostly from Syria, came to the continent seeking asylum. Many of them reached Europe through Turkey, prompting the EU to strike a deal with Ankara: €6 billion in funds, visa liberalization and EU-ascension negotiations in exchange for stricter border controls and curbing irregular arrivals to Greece. The EU also agreed to resettle within Europe one Syrian from Turkey for every Syrian returned to Turkey from Greece. But by 2020, when the EU failed to resettle Syrians, Turkey’s president Recep Tayyip Erdoğan declared he would no longer prevent migrants from crossing Turkey en route to the EU.
“Border externalization is basically paying other countries, but also subjecting them, through a carrot and stick approach, to performing functions that are usually performed by a state itself at their borders,” explained Josephine Solanki from the Transnational Institute, an Amsterdam-based think tank. It leaves space for leaders like Erdoğan, Solanki added, to bargain for influence by turning migrants “into political leverage.”
The cost of outsourcing borders is not just material. It is measured in control that Europe cedes to the foreign governments it relies on for migration policy enforcement.
Relatives and friends waited by a fence topped with barbed-wire for the return of people who had previously crossed into Ceuta. Spanish authorities claim to have sent almost everyone back to Morocco. Abdel Majid BZIOUAT / AFP
In Ceuta, migrants claimed local authorities did not stop them from crossing the border. A young Moroccan man told the New York Times a day after the event: “They opened the border and let everyone go by.”
Border outsourcing agreements were made, among others, with authoritarian regimes in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya, where EU funds were used to detain migrants and quell domestic protests, rights organizations say. Alliances with “deeply unreliable and authoritarian actors” in the name of stability, said Nathan Akehurst, “is short-termist, insane and loses Europe any credibility it has left.” These alliances also allow Europe to “shift the blame to the Moroccans, the Eastern Libyans, the Turkish or whoever decides to take advantage of that moment.”
Rumors
It is yet to be revealed who, if anyone, has taken advantage of the mass crossing into Ceuta. Local and international media have uncovered now-deleted posts that shared tips on routes and equipment for the journey. One of the main networks was called Hrig Sebta network — “Sebta” being the Arabic name of Ceuta and “hrig” being the Maghrebi term for undocumented migrants, literally referencing the burning of identity papers.
In the wake of Ceuta, European ministers pledged to tackle online misinformation to avoid migration crises, but remained cautious when asked about thousands of posts reportedly linked to Russia. Other theories attributed the crossing to Morocco’s tensions with Spain over its closer ties with Algeria, or to Spain’s position on Palestine.
But those rumors, and what appears to be a weeks-long coordinated online campaign behind them, reveal something deeply human that fences can’t deter: movement that is spurred by hopes for a better life.
“[The crossing] would have happened anyway at some point,“ Akehurst argues. “There would have been a crossing because all of the circumstances that generate that are already there before someone with a twitter account throws a match on the fire.”
Yet, let’s pause at the match. It’s not about someone with a social media profile creating chain messages. It is about the ecosystem that can jeopardize borders by creating information flows, turning rumors into perceived opportunities.
Moroccan newspaper TeleQuel already published a report about social media posts amplifying the next hrig — another attempted crossing into Ceuta — on August 15.
When packaged to a hungry audience, rumors carry the currency of truth. They’ve driven migration long before social media was even conceptualized. Now those rumors speed through digital space owned and operated by private companies not prone to accountability and sitting well outside the reach of any single state.
And the EU has understood that for years. “It is necessary to structure the information space, as we have organized in the past the territorial space, the maritime space and the air space,” Thierry Breton, the European Commissioner for Internal Market of the EU said back in 2018. He warned about Big Tech companies treating digital space as a no-man’s-land that they would write rules for.
The no man’s land between Morocco and Spain appears calmer now. But the turmoil of the crossing revealed a new, digital dimension to border governance. Information has always found a way to spread; digital platforms have given it new channels: ones which allow those behind the information to remain faceless, while the information itself passes from screen to screen. It reaches a boiling point, spills over from the digital space and then can be disappeared, even before anyone has had a moment to scroll back.
Connexion
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