Military diplomacy under fire from reality

In a world where security can increasingly rarely be defended within the borders of a single state, and war has once again become a real instrument of policy, military diplomacy is taking on particular importance. It neither replaces traditional diplomacy nor amounts merely to a demonstration of force. It is one of the tools through which states communicate their intentions, assess the intentions of partners and potential adversaries, build interoperability, and strengthen alliances. Sometimes its purpose is to enable more effective cooperation. At other times, it is to prevent a misunderstanding from escalating into a crisis. 

How to win the peace, not the war

Before dismissing diplomacy in uniform as an oxymoron, it is worth recalling Sun Tzu’s words: “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” Change just one word in that sentence, and we get a perfectly reasonable definition of diplomacy: its highest art is to achieve an objective without having to resort to force. Of course, that assumes all parties to the negotiations recognise that achieving their goals at the table is preferable to achieving them on the battlefield. And, as we know, that is not always the case.

Military diplomacy is one of those concepts everyone is happy to use without necessarily agreeing on what they actually mean by it. For some, it refers to the work of defence attachés; for others, it encompasses cooperation between armed forces, delegation visits, exercises, treaty negotiations, arms sales, the development of interoperability, or participation in international operations. Still others see it primarily as an instrument for pursuing national interests through the use of military resources and expertise. 

Everyone is partly right. And that is precisely why it is difficult to come up with a single definition that would satisfy everyone. This is hardly the only dilemma facing public administration. Whenever a concept can be interpreted in several ways, there is usually an institution ready to propose yet another interpretation. 

Between the dove of peace and the warship

The greatest paradox of military diplomacy is that it seeks to build peace using tools designed primarily for war. Diplomacy is meant to maintain relationships, seek compromises, and resolve disputes without violence. The military must be ready to use force when other instruments of policy fail. One speaks the language of dialogue; the other represents a brutal capacity for destruction. 

A state without credible defence capabilities may be able to hold talks, but it will not always have much influence over the terms. Conversely, a state with a powerful military but no ability to conduct effective diplomacy may discover that the ability to eliminate targets is not the same as the ability to achieve political results. 

In this context, it is worth recalling the concept of gunboat diplomacy. Historically, it referred to the pursuit of foreign policy objectives through the display of naval power, often accompanied by a clear suggestion that failure to reach an agreement could have unpleasant consequences. The warship did not even have to fire a shot. It was enough for it to appear in the right place, at the right time, carrying sufficiently persuasive weaponry. The message was clear, direct, and required very little imagination. It could be understood without an interpreter. 

Although gunboat diplomacy has a history stretching back decades, even centuries, its underlying logic remains relevant. One need only follow reports about the movements of American aircraft carriers and their accompanying surface and submarine vessels. The saying attributed to Henry Kissinger, describing an aircraft carrier as “100,000 tons of diplomacy”, captures the essence of such demonstrations: sometimes the mere presence of credible capabilities sends a political message.

Today, a similar function can be served by aircraft, military exercises, troop movements, or deliberate violations of airspace and maritime boundaries. Mark Galeotti, a British historian and political scientist, uses the term heavy metal diplomacy to describe the use of armed forces, or the threat of using them, to exert political pressure. The weight involved is not merely literal. The message matters, too: we are prepared to use force, and your response will have consequences. 

The problem begins when the recipient has no intention of backing down, the sender cannot credibly define the limits of escalation, and each subsequent move by either side is interpreted as a signal of further action to come. At that point, a tool intended to support diplomacy and prevent war can become one of the mechanisms that lead to conflict. 

Deterrence with a smile

There is also a more conciliatory version of this narrative. Instead of demonstrating force, states can build trust, develop professional contacts, exchange experience, and increase the transparency of their activities. This is the domain of defence diplomacy, which should not be confused with intimidating a potential adversary. 

Its purpose is to develop constructive relationships, prevent misunderstandings, and create conditions conducive to stability. It sounds reasonable. Almost too reasonable not to ask what happens when interests cease to align. 

Preventive diplomacy seeks to build trust before a crisis emerges. Coercive diplomacy, by contrast, relies on the threat of force to compel the other side to take a particular course of action. The first tries to convince a partner that cooperation is worthwhile. The second seeks to convince them that refusing to cooperate may prove costly. 

Both approaches belong to the repertoire of state policy, but neither guarantees success. Countries can spend years building relationships between officers, organising joint exercises, and exchanging experience without resolving the fundamental causes of conflict. 

History is full of cases in which people knew one another well, respected each other’s professional abilities, and even liked one another, only for their countries to end up on opposite sides of a conflict. To put it less elegantly, a shared meal is not a peace treaty, and a successful exercise is no insurance policy against war. 

The defence attaché: one of the players at the strategic table

Military diplomacy is easily confused with the work of defence attachés. Uniforms, overseas postings, contacts with military elites, and official receptions all fit the traditional image of diplomacy. The problem is that military diplomacy does not end with defence attachés, just as national defence does not begin and end with generals. 

The picture also includes ministries, commands, intelligence services, civilian diplomats, the defence industry, and military representatives to international organisations. An important part of this system consists of the hundreds of service personnel serving within NATO and European Union structures, including NATO IMS, SHAPE, ACT, and EUMS. 

These are not uniformed extras assigned to fill positions allocated to our country. They are people involved in planning, analysis, capability development, and decision-making processes. Their work rarely makes the front pages. Success often means that something worked before anyone had time to notice that it might not have. 

A service member working in an international staff represents their own country while also operating within the interests and procedures of the wider organisation. The role requires knowledge, experience, political awareness, and the ability to navigate an environment in which everyone has their own priorities, but not everyone has the authority to make decisions. Language skills alone are not enough. Sometimes the hardest task is not finding a solution, but identifying who has the authority to approve it and who is responsible for putting it into practice. 

The number of personnel working abroad is not, in itself, a measure of a country’s effectiveness. But does the number of Polish uniforms in international staffs translate into a stronger Polish voice, or does it merely serve as a statistic of our presence? A country can have excellent defence attachés, experienced officers in NATO and the EU, extensive representations, and outstanding contacts, yet still fail to achieve its objectives. All it takes is for information not to reach decision-makers, or for information from decision-makers not to reach those who need it; for decisions to come too late; or for responsibility to become diluted across institutions. 

In such circumstances, several hundred competent service members represent an impressive pool of experience that no one back home knows how to use. A country may participate in allied planning only to discover, when an officer returns, that domestic procedures are still largely occupied with planning themselves. How much strategic value can be extracted from experience gained in NATO, for example, if returning home means running into national procedures that make no provision for using that knowledge? 

Poland’s presence in the most important allied structures must translate into real influence over decisions, not merely the assurance that we will not be missing from the group photograph. 

Military diplomacy does not end at the embassy

Military diplomacy does not take place exclusively in diplomatic salons, ministerial offices, delegation visits, or receptions where everyone assures everyone else that cooperation is excellent. A substantial part of it also unfolds in the multilateral forums of NATO, the European Union, the United Nations, and the OSCE. These are the places where opportunities for cooperation, negotiation, and the reconciliation of interests take shape. 

Military representatives and service members working directly in international staffs and headquarters help develop analyses, plans, and solutions that translate political declarations into concrete action. Their effectiveness, however, depends not only on their professional competence but also on whether their home country can maintain effective communication with them and make use of the knowledge they acquire. 

Without such a connection, even the best analysis can disappear into an institutional black hole. Everyone knows something important, but no one has the full picture. Almost everyone, however, knows the procedure for passing the matter on to someone else. Military diplomacy therefore becomes not only an art of building relationships with foreign partners, but also a test of a state’s ability to cooperate within its own borders. 

Multilateral military diplomacy requires the building of coalitions, the search for compromises, and the protection of national interests. All of this takes place within a procedural environment capable of giving an urgent matter the pace of a committee investigating why the previous committee failed to finish its work. 

Military representations, defence attachés, service members serving in NATO and EU structures, commands, and ministries should therefore be treated as components of a single system. None can replace the others. The problem begins when every component performs its own tasks efficiently, but no one is accountable for the final outcome. 

A country can have experienced commanders, capable diplomats, outstanding defence attachés, and modern equipment, yet still fail to achieve its intended objectives if these elements do not work in the same direction. Simply taking a seat, even at the most prestigious table, is not a strategy. Nor is strategy about having people at every table. It is about ensuring that they know why they are there and what needs to be done with what they have learned and agreed upon. 

War as the ultimate audit of diplomacy: Everyone coordinated. No one prevented it?

Military diplomacy is a little like an orchestra. Not everyone has to play the same part, but everyone should know when to come in, when to listen, and how not to drown out the others. In this orchestra, a false note can cost far more than a loss of harmony. We can laugh at military rituals, ceremony, and institutional absurdities, but not at the very idea of military diplomacy. It is too serious to be dismissed, even if the way it is organised sometimes provides material for a rather good comedy. 

Relationships take years to build. Defence attachés and other military representatives abroad, as well as those working at home, are expected to be analysts, negotiators, representatives of the state, and organisers. Ideally, they should also be specialists in tasks no one anticipated but everyone has suddenly declared urgent. Their work requires expertise and initiative, but even the best people cannot compensate for a dysfunctional decision-making system. 

Grand strategy collides here with the dull realities of everyday life: institutional ambitions, chains of command, limited resources, reporting requirements, and visits that would ideally have taken place yesterday. The knowledge and experience gained in international structures could be a strategic asset if they could be connected to decisions made at home. Sending people abroad is one thing. Knowing how to use what they have learned there is an entirely different operation. 

It is not enough to have the right people, the appropriate uniforms, and seats at the most important tables. We must also know why they are sitting there, who makes the decisions, and what is supposed to happen once the discussions, coffee, and presentations are over. Strategy is not about ensuring that everyone is present, but about making sure that their presence changes something. Otherwise, instead of military diplomacy, we end up with an expensive simulation of activity in which everyone is engaged, everyone has their own tasks, documents circulate, meetings take place, and responsibility, as usual, remains blurred. 

Then comes the moment of review. Everyone agrees that cooperation went exceptionally well, objectives were achieved, and coordination leaves nothing to be desired. There is just one minor detail. No one can say what was actually achieved, who is responsible for it, or why things should be better next time. But there is no need to worry! This will presumably result in another report full of excellent recommendations. 

Global conflicts, particularly the one in our immediate neighbourhood, raise some deeply troubling questions. As it turns out, despite meetings, analyses, and assurances of cooperation, war can still break out and tensions can spiral out of control. It is therefore worth asking: did diplomacy actually work, or was everyone merely convinced that it did? Or perhaps it did work, but not where it should have, not when it was needed, or not effectively enough to prevent the worst from happening? 

Not every war could have been prevented, and not every diplomatic failure results from mistakes made by diplomatic representatives. That does not, however, absolve the state of its obligation to assess its own results and mistakes, as well as those made by other countries. It is difficult to imagine a more brutal audit of diplomacy than war. Declarations, meetings, and procedures must not be confused with achievements, and a report, however thoroughly approved by all the relevant departments, cannot turn failure into success. 

Because when war breaks out after years of dialogue, the question is whether diplomacy failed, or whether our ability to distinguish its actual results from the belief that everything is under control failed instead. Can Polish military diplomacy today do more than build relationships? Can it genuinely influence decisions on which the country’s security depends? Are we truly prepared for strategic surprise, or merely prepared to produce a report explaining why it came as a surprise?