In recent months, amid growing fractures within the European
Union and against the backdrop of the Ukraine-Russia war, a range
of new interpretations has emerged regarding NATO and the Western
camp. France’s increasing drive towards militarisation and the
legalisation of private military structures now openly signals
Paris’s intention to challenge cohesion within the Western
alliance, including NATO, an organisation that is over seventy
years old. In reality, France’s tensions with the Western bloc are
not new. As early as September 15, 2021, when France was excluded
from the AUKUS security pact and responded with decisions that
contradicted allied unity, deeper and more risky strategic
ambitions became visible. Today, new information sheds further
light on the dangers inherent in France’s evolving security
policy.
At the centre of this shift lies France’s move to formalise the
role of so-called trusted operators within its defence framework.
Legislative amendments adopted recently allow the French Ministry
of the Armed Forces to engage selected private organisations and
companies for international military cooperation, training, support
missions and foreign operations. Although Paris avoids the explicit
term private military companies, the substance of the policy
suggests precisely that. The rebranding appears designed to reduce
political backlash while expanding France’s operational flexibility
abroad.
Under the new framework, contracts with these trusted operators
may last up to ten years. These entities would be authorised to
take part in military operations in support of third countries
facing a crisis or armed conflict. Their remit would include
training, operational assistance, technical support and logistics.
Their activities would extend across land, sea, air and cyber
domains. This scope closely mirrors that of private military
companies operating in other global theatres, from Africa to the
Middle East.
The legalisation of such actors marks a strategic departure for
France. It enables Paris to project power indirectly while limiting
formal accountability. Unlike the French Foreign Legion, which
remains an official component of the French armed forces and
operates openly under the national flag, trusted operators provide
plausible deniability. This distinction is critical. It allows the
French state to distance itself from direct responsibility while
still shaping outcomes on the ground.
The timing of this policy is not accidental. In November 2025,
President Emmanuel Macron announced a declaration of intent to sell
up to one hundred Rafale fighter jets to Ukraine over a ten-year
period. Training Ukrainian pilots to operate these advanced
aircraft would take considerable time. In this context, trusted
operator companies could provide a convenient solution. French
pilots and retired officers could be deployed through private
structures to train Ukrainian personnel. The possibility that they
could also participate directly in combat operations cannot be
ruled out.
Such an arrangement would allow France to maintain a public
narrative that its official armed forces are not engaged in the
conflict. This would support claims that NATO is not directly
intervening in Ukraine. In turn, it would reduce the legal and
political grounds for Russia to justify retaliatory military action
against France. The use of private military actors thus becomes a
strategic tool to manage escalation while still influencing the
battlefield.
This approach reflects a broader trend in contemporary warfare.
States increasingly rely on indirect means to advance strategic
interests while avoiding formal thresholds that trigger collective
defence obligations or international retaliation. For France,
trusted operators represent a way to assert influence without the
constraints imposed by alliance politics and public opinion.
However, this strategy also carries risks. It weakens
transparency and undermines established norms of state
responsibility in armed conflict. The blurred line between state
and non-state actors complicates accountability under international
law. It also raises ethical concerns, particularly when private
entities are granted authority to operate across multiple domains,
including cyberspace, where attribution is already difficult.
The implications extend beyond Ukraine. France maintains close
relations with Armenia, a country that has become increasingly
militarised following its regional conflicts. Armenia already hosts
various private military-style organisations, such as VOMA. It is
not implausible that French-trusted operators could establish
cooperation with Armenian counterparts. Through lobbying networks
and political connections, such collaboration could develop with
limited public scrutiny.
If France were to provide military support to Armenia through
private structures, it would further illustrate how this model can
be used to influence sensitive regional conflicts while avoiding
diplomatic costs. This could destabilise already fragile balances
in the South Caucasus and increase tensions with regional powers.
Once again, the use of trusted operators would allow Paris to deny
direct involvement while shaping outcomes in line with its
strategic preferences.
The French government may present this policy as a pragmatic
adaptation to a changing security environment. Yet it also reflects
a deeper ambition to act independently of collective Western
frameworks. By creating parallel instruments of force projection,
France signals dissatisfaction with existing alliance mechanisms
and constraints. This risks further fragmentation within NATO and
the European Union at a time when unity is already under
strain.
Historically, France has pursued strategic autonomy. From its
withdrawal from NATO’s integrated military command in the Cold War
era to its more recent disputes with allies, Paris has consistently
sought freedom of manoeuvre. The trusted operator model fits neatly
into this tradition. It allows France to maintain influence without
full alignment, cooperation without subordination, and intervention
without overt responsibility.
Nevertheless, the long-term consequences may be destabilising.
The normalisation of private military actors by a major European
power sets a precedent. Other states may follow suit, further
eroding international norms governing the use of force. Conflicts
could become more opaque, more fragmented and harder to
regulate.
In conclusion, France’s move to legalise private military
activity under the guise of trusted operators represents a
significant shift in European security policy. It reflects a desire
for strategic flexibility and political insulation but also exposes
deeper fractures within the Western alliance. In the context of the
Ukraine war and broader geopolitical competition, this approach may
offer short-term advantages. Yet it also risks undermining
collective security structures and accelerating the privatisation
of warfare. The challenge for Europe lies in recognising these
dynamics before they reshape the security order in irreversible
ways.