23.06.2026 à 08:43
Ce que la crise d’Ormuz a changé (ou non) au monde de l’énergie
À la mi-juin 2026, les États-Unis et l’Iran ont signé, sous médiation pakistanaise, un protocole censé mettre fin à la guerre. Le détroit d’Ormuz du golfe Arabo-Persique, fermé depuis le 28 février, a commencé à rouvrir tandis que le prix du baril refluait. Après près de quatre mois de stress intense, l’heure est propice à un bilan d’étape. La crise a-t-elle rebattu les cartes de l’énergie mondiale ? Ou n’a-t-elle fait que confirmer des vulnérabilités patentes ?
À chaque crise énergétique revient la tentation d’annoncer un tournant historique. Le blocage du détroit d’Ormuz, devenu, depuis la fin février, le point de rupture d’une guerre ouverte, n’échappe pas à cet audit. Une fois les marchés apaisés et les tankers de retour, la crise d’Ormuz aura peut-être moins changé le monde de l’énergie qu’elle n’en aura révélé les failles quasi sismiques.
Depuis des décennies, les marchés se rassuraient d’une idée simple. En cas de rupture, la capacité de production inutilisée de l’Opep (sa « capacité de réserve ») pourrait être mobilisée pour compenser. La crise d’Ormuz a fortement altéré cette assurance, car l’essentiel de cette capacité, logée en Arabie saoudite, aux Émirats et au Koweït, se trouvait précisément derrière le verrou.
Pour le dire autrement, l’extincteur était dans le bâtiment en feu… L’idée rassurante selon laquelle Riyad pourrait toujours ouvrir les vannes pour calmer les marchés ne vaut que si les barils peuvent effectivement sortir. La marge de sécurité qui fondait la confiance des marchés depuis le contre-choc des années 1980 s’est révélée ineffective en la circonstance.
Henry Farrell et Abraham Newman avaient théorisé l’interdépendance instrumentalisée, soit l’idée que les nœuds dominants des réseaux mondiaux, financiers, numériques ou logistiques peuvent être transformés en armes par ceux qui les contrôlent. Ormuz en offre une illustration « chimiquement pure ».
Des chercheurs parlent désormais de « dilemmes de flux ». Cette expression désigne le piège où se trouvent les économies ouvertes, dont l’intégration crée des dépendances dont il est coûteux de s’extraire.
À lire aussi : Après le départ des Émirats arabes unis, assiste-t-on à la fin de l’Opep ? Et faudra-t-il la regretter ?
Lorsque l’Iran ferme Ormuz, il n’invente pas une arme nouvelle, il active un levier latent, inscrit depuis longtemps dans la géographie des flux. Fermer le détroit relevait jusqu’ici de l’arme à effet autolimitant, l’Iran en payant lui-même le prix. Un régime acculé a fini par franchir le pas, y voyant non plus un suicide mais un ultime levier de dissuasion. C’est ce que Xavier Carpentier-Tanguy qualifie de « rhéopolitique », l’art de contrôler les flux plutôt que les territoires, de les régler, les moduler, les interrompre.
Une rupture mérite d’être isolée, car elle dépasse le seul détroit. Après l’Ukraine, Ormuz confirme l’avènement d’une véritable guerre des infrastructures énergétiques, où raffineries, terminaux, gazoducs et réseaux électriques ne sont plus des dommages collatéraux mais des cibles de premier choix. En Ukraine, la Russie a fait du réseau une arme à part entière, lançant neuf vagues d’attaques coordonnées sur le système électrique entre mars et août 2024 et privant le pays d’environ 9 gigawatts de capacité, soit près d’un tiers de sa consommation d’avant-guerre. La logique est désormais explicite : frapper l’énergie de l’adversaire pour atteindre son économie et sa population.
La crise d’Ormuz prolonge ce répertoire à l’échelle du Golfe. Depuis le 28 février, des dizaines de sites énergétiques ont été visés dans neuf pays : raffineries, champs pétroliers, terminaux gaziers et dépôts d’hydrocarbures confondus… Les États-Unis et Israël ont frappé les installations iraniennes, de la raffinerie de Tondguyan, à Baqer Shahr, au sud de Téhéran, à plusieurs dépôts de la capitale, et ont visé à plusieurs reprises l’île de Kharg, d’où part l’essentiel des exportations iraniennes.
L’infrastructure énergétique, jadis sanctuarisée par la dissuasion, devient un champ de bataille assumé, et c’est peut-être là le changement le plus lourd de conséquences, car il transforme chaque terminal, chaque gazoduc et chaque centrale en cible potentielle des conflits à venir.
La crise a enfin révélé une asymétrie de puissance énergétique. Les États-Unis, redevenus exportateurs nets de pétrole et premiers exportateurs mondiaux de GNL, en sortent relativement protégés, voire renforcés. « Que le pétrole coule à flots », a lancé Donald Trump en annonçant la réouverture. À six mois des élections de mi-mandat, son administration a fait de la baisse des prix une priorité, et la posture de domination énergétique américaine a trouvé dans Ormuz une confirmation éclatante. Cette protection reste pourtant très relative, car les prix se forment sur un marché mondial, et l’automobiliste du Midwest a, lui aussi, vu grimper le prix à la pompe de près de 60 %.
À l’autre extrémité, l’Asie a été la plus exposée. La Chine occupe une position singulière, première acheteuse du pétrole du Golfe, donc première exposée, mais aussi détentrice du principal levier sur Téhéran. La guerre a, par ailleurs, tendu la relation transatlantique, révélant des désaccords profonds entre Washington et les Européens sur l’usage de la force et les priorités stratégiques.
Surtout, la cohésion interne de l’Opep s’est profondément fissurée, l’un de ses membres, l’Iran, retournant le détroit contre les autres, tandis que les Émirats arabes unis ont quitté l’organisation après près de soixante ans de participation. Le choc d’Ormuz n’aura pas seulement neutralisé l’Opep au moment où on l’attendait le plus, il aura accéléré un déclin que certains jugent déjà irréversible.
La crise a aussi rappelé que ses premières victimes ne sont pas toujours celles que l’on croit. Vue du Sud, comme le souligne un volume collectif du Policy Center for the New South, la fermeture d’Ormuz a moins menacé l’essence des automobilistes occidentaux que la sécurité alimentaire de pays importateurs. Le détroit laisse en effet passer une part majeure des engrais phosphatés, de l’ammoniac et de matières critiques dont le monde se découvre tributaire, si bien qu’une interruption durable fait planer le risque d’une stagflation mondiale et de tensions sociales dans les économies les plus fragiles.
Les 3,4 milliards d’habitants qui vivent dans des États consacrant déjà plus à leur dette qu’à la santé ou à l’éducation y sont en première ligne, et jusqu’aux producteurs de minerais d’Amérique du Sud, contraints de revoir leurs débouchés. Même les pays exportateurs n’y gagnent guère, leurs recettes accrues étant absorbées par le renchérissement de leurs importations.
La crise confirme que la diversification engagée après l’invasion de l’Ukraine n’a pas réduit la dépendance européenne aux hydrocarbures. Elle l’a déplacée, de la Russie vers le Golfe et les États-Unis, c’est-à-dire d’une zone « sismique » vers d’autres. L’Europe est entrée dans la crise avec des stocks de gaz historiquement bas, 46 milliards de mètres cubes (m³) à la fin février contre 60 milliards de m³ et 77 milliards de m³ les deux hivers précédents, et un prix du gaz industriel deux à cinq fois supérieur à celui des États-Unis, comme le documentait le rapport Draghi.
La chimie, les engrais et la sidérurgie y ont vu ressurgir le spectre de 2022, et le choc énergétique s’est superposé au choc commercial des tarifs douaniers américains, une double exposition inédite depuis la stagflation des années 1970. La vulnérabilité européenne n’est donc, à l’évidence, pas conjoncturelle. Substituer un fournisseur à un autre ne change rien à la quantité d’énergie fossile importée, seulement l’adresse de l’expéditeur.
Que retenir, alors ? La réponse structurelle à Ormuz n’est ni un énième oléoduc de contournement ni un fournisseur de substitution. C’est la décarbonation, entendue comme une stratégie de sécurité économique et non comme une simple contrainte climatique, formant une assurance contre le prochain choc d’Ormuz comme contre un éventuel chantage au GNL américain.
Les leviers existent, et ils sont connus. Il s’agit d’électrifier les procédés là où la technologie le permet, de déployer l’hydrogène bas carbone pour les usages à haute température difficilement électrifiables, de relever drastiquement l’efficacité énergétique et de développer la flexibilité de la demande. Chacun réduit mécaniquement l’exposition de nos économies aux chocs fossiles importés.
Le Clean Industrial Deal adopté par la Commission en 2025 articule d’ailleurs explicitement décarbonation et résilience industrielle, en reconnaissant que réduire la dépendance aux hydrocarbures importés est à la fois un objectif climatique et un levier de compétitivité et de sécurité.
Selon les calculs fondés sur le World Energy Investment 2026 de l’Agence internationale de l’énergie (AIE), les investissements bas carbone, déployés depuis la COP 21 de 2015, ont permis d’éviter 260 milliards de dollars (227,45 milliards d’euros) d’importations fossiles en 2025 aux grandes régions importatrices (Europe, Chine, Inde, Japon, Corée…).
En 2026, ces économies, selon les conditions de sortie du conflit, pourraient atteindre de 350 milliards à 400 milliards de dollars. Dont une centaine de milliards pour l’UE. Chaque technologie décarbonée fonctionne comme une police d’assurance dont la prime de risque géopolitique accroît mécaniquement le rendement.
La crise d’Ormuz de 2026 n’aura donc rien d’une anomalie de l’Histoire. De la guerre des tankers des années 1980 aux alertes de 2011, 2019 et 2025, la menace est un invariant de la géopolitique de l’énergie. Si rien d’autre ne bouge, Ormuz 2026 ne sera qu’un choc particulièrement violent, prolongeant une longue série.
Si la décarbonation y est enfin lue comme une politique de sécurité, alors, rétrospectivement, cette crise sera célébrée comme un tournant. Et, ironie, Donald Trump, en contribuant au chaos pétrogazier, aura été un promoteur (bien involontaire) de la transition énergétique.
Patrice Geoffron est membre fondateur de l'Alliance pour la Décarbonation de la Route. Il siège dans différents conseils scientifiques: CEA, CRE, Engie.
22.06.2026 à 17:37
At the ILA Berlin Air Show on June 11, eight German aerospace and defence companies signed a strategic positioning paper committing to build a sixth-generation fighter jet without France, under the banner “Team Gen 6”. Airbus called it “an existing step for European sovereignty”. Spanish industry is already lining up behind the initiative.
Three days earlier, France and Germany had officially abandoned the joint fighter jet program at the heart of the Future Combat Air System (FCAS), the €100-billion initiative that was supposed to embody that very sovereignty. Spain’s defence minister, Margarita Robles, called the outcome a policy failure for Europe: “Industrial interests have been prioritised over Europe’s security and defence interests.”
The question raised by the collapse of the program is the following one: can better management of coopetition by European institutions prevent sovereignty-driven projects from collapsing?
The FCAS collapse is a call to better understand the success factors of a strategic concept that sits at the heart of Europe’s strategic autonomy: “coopetition”, the idea that European competitors can and must cooperate to build sovereign capabilities that none of them can build alone. FCAS was not facing difficulties because the idea was fundamentally flawed. Rather, it struggled because coopetition, when it involves competing firms, competing states, and contested interests over critical technologies, is structurally prone to collapse without the governance architecture needed to sustain it.
The logic is straightforward, even if the practice is not. National champions, the historical model for European industrial sovereignty, are increasingly unable to sustain alone the scale of investment that frontier technologies demand. No single firm, and no single state, can credibly mobilise sufficient skills and resources to produce and operate a next-generation combat aircraft, a a competitive semiconductor ecosystem, or European AI infrastructure.
The response, across defence, space, energy, and critical technologies, has been to combine forces, including with direct competitors. This is what researchers call coopetition: strategies that are simultaneously cooperative and competitive. Partners pool costs and share knowledge to create value together, while each tries to capture as much of that value as possible individually.
The European satellite navigation system Galileo is an early instructive case. Launched in 2001 with a budget of €13 billion, it brought together firms, including Airbus Defence and Space, Thales Alenia Space, and OHB, that compete in the same markets. Pooling their R&D capacities allowed Europe to build a system capable of rivalling GPS. No single actor could have done it alone. The coopetition, carefully orchestrated by the European Space Agency as a neutral third party, worked (Rouyre and Fernandez, 2023).
FCAS has proved far harder to manage. The contrast is worth dwelling on.
Coopetition always generates tensions (Tidström, 2014). Companies that cooperate to create value also compete to appropriate it. This produces a structural paradox: each partner must share knowledge to advance the joint project, while simultaneously protecting the knowledge it does not want to transfer. The line between the two is rarely obvious, and incentives to cross it are constant.
When the stakes are commercial, managing this is hard. When national sovereignty is involved, it becomes acute.
In the FCAS case, Dassault and Airbus Defence and Space are not merely industrial competitors, they are the industrial embodiments of French and German defence interests respectively.
Dassault’s Rafale and Airbus’ Eurofighter compete directly on the global arms market. Their collaboration in FCAS thus runs directly against their competitive interests, and neither partner can afford to be the one that transfers more than it receives.
This is not irrationality. It reflects what research literature calls asymmetric learning: the risk that, in any cooperative arrangement, one partner learns more from the other than it contributes in return. In standard industrial coopetition, this is a governance problem. In coopetition involving rivals from different states, however, it takes on a harder edge: strengthening your partner’s knowledge base may, in certain scenarios, amount to strengthening the capabilities of your competitor’s country.
The Galileo project itself offers a cautionary tale here. In 2003, China joined the program, investing €230 million and taking a substantial share of the work. “China will help Galileo to become the major world infrastructure for the growing market for location services”, commented Loyola de Palacio, the late Spanish former energy and transport commissioner.
Over time, Chinese actors absorbed enough of the technology to develop BeiDou, their own independent gps-equivalent positioning system, which they have since used to interfere with Galileo signals. The coopetitive project had, inadvertently, helped subsidise a rival. The lesson is not that cooperation is naive; it is that knowledge flows must be governed.
Spain joined FCAS in 2019 as its third partner. For Madrid, the program was never only about an aircraft: it was a vehicle for upgrading an entire defence-industrial ecosystem. When the Franco-German relationship turned into a learning race and then hit deadlock, Spain faced the classic dilemma of the junior coopetition partner: stay loyal to a stalling project, or hedge.
It hedged. Before the divorce was final, Madrid had approved funding for a joint Airbus–Indra study on a future national combat air system. Within three days of the official cancellation, Spanish industry had aligned itself with the German-led Team Gen 6, while Robles publicly lamented that industrial interests had trumped European security.
Belgium, an observer to the program, had reached the same conclusion months earlier: its defence minister declared the project “dead” as early as February.
Spain’s behaviour is not opportunism. It is the rational response to a coopetitive project without credible governance: when partners cannot trust the rules of the game, each discounts the project’s future and invests in alternatives. The trouble is that hedging accelerates the very fragmentation it is meant to insure against.
Neither of the Galileo or FCAS cases argues against coopetition. Rather, they argue for coopetition management to be taken seriously.
Why was Galileo successful, and why are we struggling to bring the FCAS program to completion? What FCAS has lacked is credible governance architecture: mechanisms that allow partners to cooperate intensively while limiting undesired knowledge transfers, distributing costs and gains in ways that each partner considers fair, and resolving disputes before they become public threats to quit.
Research on coopetition identifies several such mechanisms: structural separation between collaborative and competitive activities, formal protocols governing what is shared and what is ring-fenced and, perhaps most importantly, a neutral orchestrator capable of holding the process together when bilateral tensions escalate. The European Space Agency (ESA) played this role in Galileo. In FCAS, the three partner states have struggled to find an equivalent partly because the governance question is also a sovereignty question: who leads, and on whose terms?
The same dynamic is at work, though less visibly, across Europe’s other strategic technology bets.
Semiconductor supply chains require collaboration across firms that compete fiercely in end markets. AI infrastructure demands data-sharing between actors with strong incentives to hoard. Quantum computing development in Europe involves national research ecosystems that are as jealous of their advances as they are dependent on each other. In each case, coopetition is necessary; in each case, European governance needed to sustain it remains underdeveloped.
In sum, in the space industry the European states accepted the coordination role of the ESA. This coordination by ESA explains the success of the Galileo project. (Rouyre and Fernandez, 2023). In the defence industry, the European Defense Agency (EDA) does not play this role mainly because the European states do not want to delegate their defence capabilities to an European entity. The other European institutions such as the Organisation for Joint Armament Cooperation (OCCAR), European Defence Fund (EDF) do not play this role neither. Coopetitive projects are launched by European companies pushed by their governments without a strong coordinating mechanism at European level.
This is a pity for European sovereignty!
Once again, ESA’s strong coordination explains the success of Galileo and the lack of European coordination explains the failure of the FCAS program.
The will of each European state to shape its own defence industry creates tensions. However, no one national state in Europe can support alone the costs and the risks of highly innovative products required by the present and future battlefields and no-one has the innovation capabilities and the market scale to go alone.
Furthermore, the aerospace and the defence industries are becoming increasingly intertwined. As the war in Ukraine has demonstrated, the defence capabilities are increasingly based on connection with satellites.
This change in warfare does seem to be taken into account by European states. Paradoxically, the success of European cooperation in the aerospace industry finally provides the tools for assuming European defence by European states. These states build their defence capabilities in space on ESA success whereas they refuse to delegate their traditional defence capabilities to EDA.
The rules of war have changed but the mindset of European leadership seems not to be able to change fast enough to follow! It is now evident that cooperation between competitors requires institutional infrastructure that Europe is yet to build, mechanisms to govern knowledge sharing, equitable distribution of gains, and the ability to absorb the tensions that are inherent to any relationship that is simultaneously collaborative and adversarial.
The risk is not that Europe will refuse to cooperate. Europe will keep launching coopetitive projects while lacking the governance capacity to see them through.
The FCAS totally collapsed and it is not simply a program failure. It signals that European industrial sovereignty remains, for now, more ambition than architecture.
Learning to manage coopetition at scale, across firms, across states, across sectors, may be one of the defining organisational challenges of European strategic autonomy. It deserves more attention than it currently receives.
This article draws on the chapter “Coopétition et souveraineté”, by Chloé Zanardi and Frédéric Le Roy, in Fragmentation, hypermondialisation, souveraineté. Pour une refondation de la stratégie d’entreprise, edited by Stéphanie Dameron, Boris Bernabé and Xavier Desmaison, (Éditions EMS, 2025).
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Les auteurs ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d'une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n'ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur organisme de recherche.
22.06.2026 à 16:46
Analysing wildfire behaviour can help detect risk zones earlier and support fire-smart strategies
Fire-smart risk assessment is needed to tackle the scale of wildfire destruction, which is a growing reality across the globe. Hazardous fires are more intense and more frequent, fuelled both by climate change and by the no less significant human footprint on landscapes.
Wildfire data outlines a clear trend: we are facing increasingly devastating events that trigger disasters of previously unknown proportions. According to the European Environmental Agency 3,770 km² of land is burnt yearly on average, with 45,000 people displaced due to wildfires from 2008 to 2023, leading up to annual losses estimated at €2.5 billion in the European Union.
In the summer of 2025, Europe experienced its most extreme wildfires in the past two decades in terms of area burned. Intense fires in the Iberian Peninsula scorched 6,720 km2 of land, with 3,930 km2 in Spain alone, resulting in a tragic toll of eight fatalities.
At the other end of the globe, Chile has also seen staggering figures, leading to particularly painful disasters. In February 2024, the Valparaíso–Viña del Mar fire claimed 136 lives and destroyed nearly 7,000 homes. Similarly, this past January in Concepción–Penco, another blaze killed 21 people and levelled more than 2,000 residences.
Understanding the potential of these fires to devastate communities and ecosystems is vital. Consequently, recent pyrogeographical research focuses on analysing fire behaviour across diverse spatial and temporal scales. In this context, two technological approaches stand out as the most effective for evaluating fire impacts: remote sensing resources like satellite imagery, thermal sensors, and airborne platforms, which are essential for reconstructing past impacts, as well as for early detection and real-time monitoring of active fires; simulation and predictive tools allow us to identify landscape configurations that facilitate the ignition and spread of fire and comprehend the complexity of forest fires.
By applying these insights to land-use planning, we aim to confront a reality that day by day increases the wildfire risk within our communities.
To quantify the magnitude of these events, we harness satellite imagery and advanced analytical tools to assess two primary variables: intensity and severity.
Intensity measures the fire’s power, i.e. the rate at which energy is released during combustion and helps pinpoint thermal hotspots.
Severity, by contrast, gauges the aftermath: the physical damage left in the fire’s wake.
By analysing specific spectral ranges, we can quantify the drastic drop in vegetation productivity, effectively measuring the ecosystem’s struggle to recover.
The recent Barroca Grande fire (Portugal, August 2025) and the Trinitarias fire (Chile, January 2026) serve here as case studies. By combining NASA’s FIRMS thermal data with European Space Agency(ESA)‘s Copernicus Sentinel-3 imagery, we can visualise the fire crisis in both space and time. These images reveal a staggering reality: smoke plumes stretching for hundreds of kilometres across the atmosphere.
The intensity data reveals that over 95% of the total eventual footprint was burnt in a single day in Chile on January 18. This is the definition of 'explosive fire behaviour’ – events so rapid they outpace traditional suppression efforts.
Beyond the immediate heat, our severity analysis provides metrics that are essential for recovery efforts. 57,782 hectares were scorched in Portugal.
By cross-referencing these damage levels with fuel types, local weather, and topography, we can design precise ecological restoration plans and help the agricultural sector rebuild in a way that is hopefully more resilient to future fires.
In the world of fire risk assessment and management, there are two prevalent strategies.
The most common uses short-term assessments: the daily fire risk indices we see on the news combine current weather danger with local vulnerability. This is the backbone, for instance, of the European Forest Fire Information System (EFFIS).
At the other end of the spectrum lies a more “strategic” tool called quantitative simulation. Rather than looking at what might happen tomorrow (or is currently happening), this approach uses advanced modelling techniques to guide long-term planning and risk mitigation.
To anticipate possible effects of warmer and drier fire seasons or landscape transformation (e.g., land abandonment), we assess wildfire exposure using a blend of empirical modelling (learning from the history of how fires have actually occurred and behaved) and stochastic modelling (using complex algorithms to play out thousands of “what-if” scenarios).
Essentially, we study past fires to evaluate how a landscape is likely to foster or fight future fires and assess to what extent we are potentially exposed or threatened by them. To quantify this exposure, we first identify the specific drivers that cause ignitions: human or natural. Then, we set thousands of theoretical fires loose across a ‘digital twin’ of the landscape.
We run these simulations under various climate settings to generate realistic patterns of fire exposure. The result is a set of clear, actionable metrics (Fig. 2) that tell us not just where a fire is likely to strike, but how virulent it will be.
This transition from reactive to proactive allows us to implement truly effective strategies. Whether it’s rearranging forest fuels, updating urban building codes, or designing fire-smart neighbourhoods, these decisions are rooted in data.
The true test of these technologies occurs during an active emergency. In an operational setting, fire spread modelling shifts from strategic
planning to a race against time. UC San Diego’s exemplary WIFIRE Program, for instance, provides real-time information to wildfire responders.
By integrating near-real-time satellite data with high-resolution weather forecasts, researchers can generate projections that predict a fire’s path over the coming hours.
One of the most effective tools in operational evacuation is the use of “isochrones” – contour lines on a map that represent the fire’s predicted arrival time (e.g. 30, 60, or 90 minutes from the current position).
Overlaying these contour lines with trigger points (specific ridges, roads, or landmarks) lets emergency managers automate the decision-making process.
The Axa science philanthropy is now part of the Axa Foundation for Human Progress, which brings together the commitments of Axa Group and Mutuelles d'Assurances in the fields of Science, Nature, Solidarity, and Culture. Before 2025, the global science philanthropy was held by the Axa Research Fund, which has supported over 750 projects around the world since its inception back in 2007. To learn more, visit Axa Foundation for Human Progress.
A weekly e-mail in English featuring expertise from scholars and researchers. It provides an introduction to the diversity of research coming out of the continent and considers some of the key issues facing European countries. Get the newsletter!
Marcos Rodrigues Mimbrero a reçu des financements de Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Univesidades, Agencia Estatal de Investigación, AXA Research Fund.
Jorge Félez Bernal a reçu des financements de AXA Research Foundation.