Guerre du Vietnam: Quels enseignements pour la guerre en Iran ?

The Vietnam War:

Lessons for the War in Iran? Our RDVG followers know

we regularly draw conclusions and lessons from

wars of the past such as the First World War,

the Second War World and even

the era of the Cold War. We turn our sights today to Vietnam,

seeking to understand that conflict in relation to the war in Iran. How, then, can the lessons of history

illuminate current events and assist us in formulating potential

scenarios for the future? We’ll be exploring this topic

today with Fabrice Ravel. Fabrice, hello.

Hello, Olivier. Hello everyone. We are returning to a familiar approach from

our RDVG sessions: the use of comparative analysis. We will examine the past to help explain the

present and, perhaps, discern the shape of things to come. Let’s start by revisiting the Vietnam

War, and asking ourselves: why, here in March 2026, is this history

still so crucial to our understanding of the world’s current geopolitical landscape? The current situation requires

geopolitical analysts to re-examine the substantial academic and

historical literature written on the Vietnam War. To explain this

seemingly sudden or unexpected turn, I should

perhaps use a comparison to show the audience

what lies behind this reaction —one that might feel surprising,

since the conflict took place over fifty years ago. Similarity, however,

is something that must have instinctively struck so many military officers —the French during the Crimean War

of 1853–1856, and the Germans during the First

or Second World Wars— to revisit the past as they began another

campaign against Russia (the Crimean War

in the 19th century), the Russian Empire in

World War I, and the Soviet Union in

World War II, they found themselves turning back to General de Caulaincourt’s memoirs

concerning his diplomacy and then regarding the 1812 Russian campaign,

or to the Count de Ségur. You realise that everything

always seems to start in the height of summer,

under glorious skies. However, the sky eventually darkens

—as if to herald the shifting geopolitical outlook—unleashing

torrential rain and the Raspoutitsa, the rainy season that renders

the roads impassable in Russia. This is followed by the initial frosts,

a stark reminder that winter will inevitably arrive to bury

and suffocate any invader who possessed the audacity to ignore

the lessons of history. At this point, I imagine some of you

are asking yourselves: why is he talking about Russia when the focus is meant to be

a comparison between Vietnam and Iran? It’s precisely

because American officers, veterans of every campaign over the last half-century, are

now asking themselves: What were those vital lessons from Vietnam that we’ve forgotten?

Which ones should we be revisiting now to avoid making the same mistakes all over again? Of all the sources I mentioned, I think

the most significant is a book by John Prados

—who, as it happens, was a research director at a university in Washington.

Why? I want to be clear from the start for

anyone planning to tackle this book: it is over 900 pages long, and

the footnotes alone account for more than 90 of them. However, what is significant

—beyond the mere scale of the work and the implication that there are numerous

events to chronicle—is that the French title might appear somewhat

unremarkable. It literally translates as The History of the Vietnam War. But look at the American subtitle, which

is ‘The History of an Unwinnable War’, the history of a war that

could not be won. This already puts us in a rather

different perspective. Chapter 3 (page 97 in my version)

has a particularly noteworthy title: Many Roads to Quagmire

(1954–1960). It should soon become clear

that such a perspective will prove itself to be particularly demoralising,

wouldn’t you say? Not only does it seem

to be particularly demoralising, it actually seems rather discouraging. It is vital to understand that

the Vietnam War is the primary reference point,

and not just for the US military. As we’ll discuss shortly, it should

be the benchmark for every political leader in

the USA; more than that, it is a psychological reference that remains deeply

ingrained in the American people. Let’s try to see what lessons

should have been learnt from the Vietnam War to help us understand

the situation today. What key questions can we draw

from that war? I would say at least seven,

but that number already suggests there is quite a lot to consider. The first question we must pose when using

Vietnam to decode the Iranian situation concerns the true effectiveness of

different types of force. Specifically, we must weigh the impact of firepower against air power, and finally,

evaluate the power of numbers, which we can call

the statistical power. While the phrasing might

seem surprising at first, I’ll make sure to explain it later. This naturally leads

to a second vital question.

We must assess the degree to which the objectives given to the military

actually align with the political goals being pursued—or, as is often the

case, the extent to which they diverge. Inevitably, this will bring us to

questions concerning the psychological dimension of war. We shall see that in the context of

the Vietnam War, this was particularly significant. As it is a benchmark, it may prove just as

significant for the American people. A fourth question leads us

to consider the repercussions of such a prolonged war

on American society. This is especially pertinent

as we may see the war in Iran

—regardless of its outcome— act as a catalyst for the frustrations that

have persisted since Donald Trump’s election regarding

his electorate's expectations. I’ll try to explain the

nature of these frustrations. Finally, I believe it is fair to say that

two further questions of great importance arise, both of which are underscored

by the interplay between memories of the Vietnam War and the

reality of unfolding events in Iran. Firstly, because we will realise there is

a very specific link to be added to the previous one. Lastly, we might ask

if an ultimate lesson is already forming,

even though we are still in the earliest phase

of the Iranian war as we are speaking now. As you noted at the outset, you

spoke of power—specifically, a threefold power. Firepower, air power

and a third that particularly intrigues me: the power of numbers

or statistical power. Could we look at

that key point? Yes, of course, and I’d be happy to,

because we should have an explanation of what we mean by these

three concepts, which I’ll go through, if you don’t mind, one by one. Firepower. One battle in particular

epitomises this aspect of the Vietnam War: the Battle of Khe Sanh,

from 21 January through 14 April 1968. Essentially, Khe Sanh was

an American garrison comprising American and South Vietnamese

troops—some 5,000 personnel— who were besieged for 77 days by

forces three to four times their number. The first observation to be made

is that the American forces prevailed, despite being outnumbered by

three or four to one, depending on the calculations. But that’s when US firepower

came into play. Because, an estimated that 54,000 tonnes

of napalm were dropped on Khe Sanh. I did say 54,000 tonnes of napalm. I’ll

ask our audience to consider this: in the annals of military history, Khe Sanh

is the most heavily bombarded site in the history of humanity,

across all wars combined. That alone should suffice to render

quite a dizzying perspective. Furthermore,

looking specifically at 1968 provides

a striking perspective. Although the US intervention is generally

defined between 1954 and 1974 —setting aside 1975,

the year of final withdrawal— the volume of explosives the US deployed in

1968 alone was unprecedented. Using the military measure of

TNT equivalents, the total quantity of explosives dropped

in 1968 actually exceeded everything used across the

Pacific front from the moment it began on 7 December 1941 to the Japanese surrender

on 2 September 1945, including the atomic bombs. Thus, the implication

is clear: the Americans truly employed every

possible means at their disposal. Evidently, in the case of Iran,

we are now hearing reports concerning

the use of these bombs and munitions. Now let’s turn to the use

of air power in particular. This brings us back to Iran, precisely because

for the time being, air power is the sole method being

utilised by the American military. Notably, since

Vietnam, American forces have utilised ‘smart bombs’,

also known as laser-guided munitions. This implies

a genuine continuity and similarity between the two conflicts.

In Vietnam, the goal was to stop North Vietnamese

supplies from reaching the communist resistance

in South Vietnam. To cut off the famous

Ho Chi Minh Trail, the Americans targeted key bridges, and it was

this specific type of munitions that allowed them to achieve that. In a similar vein, I think it is very

important to point out this particular fact. The purpose of the strategic

bomber was abandoned. I am thinking specifically of

the famous American B-52, whose silhouette and imagery from

the Vietnam War are iconic. It is known for dropping

long strings of bombs; one is tempted to use the term carpet bombing,

a legacy of the Second World War. I would like to cite one specific example:

the B-52D. In their pursuit

of overwhelming aerial firepower, the Americans modified the B-52D’s payload capacity

by significantly increasing its bomb racks. As a result, the payload grew from

around 51 bombs —already a substantial 12,000 kilos—

to practically 108 bombs. Each B-52 could thus carry the equivalent

of 27,000 kilos of explosives. So, I’ll leave that to

your imagination. This might be the perfect time for our audience to look

at those iconic images of B-52s over Vietnam, which clearly demonstrate the intent to

overwhelm the enemy through sheer firepower. How can one fail to draw

a parallel with the images we are currently witnessing in Iran and Lebanon? There’s a third pitfall inherent with power:

the potential trap of statistics. The immediate corollary is

the concept of the ‘kill ratio’ —we’ll understand this concept soon enough—.

The kill ratio is a term the Americans have

frequently highlighted. Essentially, this refers to

the number of losses one is capable of inflicting on the enemy in

relation to one's own. Put simply, the American focus

at the time wasn't just on their own

casualty counts. What mattered to them was the extent to

which they could multiply the enemy’s losses relative to every single loss they sustained. It is estimated that at the height of

the Vietnam War, the ratio was 1 to 10. Those are just figures. But what really

matters is not just how we communicate the figures, but perhaps how they’re perceived

by the people receiving them, in terms of their sensitivity. And that’s a whole different matter. Furthermore, these three powers

relate to military objectives that can be clearly defined

and circumscribed. But there is also the link and the connection

with political objectives. And indeed, are they aligned

in this conflict? That is the key question. We should turn to two strategists who

will remind us of the necessity of having a

clear political objective. We should begin with

Carl von Clausewitz, to whom we dedicated a specific session

of RDVG, which, as you will most certainly recall,

had the very surprising title: ‘Clausewitz:

To Win the Peace’. We are once again faced

with Clausewitz’s famous quote, for which we must

strive to find the most accurate translation.

It posits that war is not an independent phenomenon, but

rather the continuation of

politics by different means. We are a long way from the saying that ‘war is

merely the continuation of politics by other means’, which can be

misinterpreted to suggest that we must go to war. That brings to mind

another author whose words fit this discussion perfectly:

Aleksandr Svechin. Perhaps we should start

by stating who he is. He stands as one of the greatest

Russian (and Soviet) strategic thinkers. He is credited with coining

the term ‘operational level of war’ (operative art), a concept that deserves

a deeper dive. As Oliver is nodding, perhaps we will address it in a future

RDVG session. Why mention

Aleksandr Svechin at this point? Because Svechin also

confirms that we cannot understand war, let alone define victory, without linking

military objectives and political ends. Consequently, by reflecting on these

points, we are assessing the weight of this link, which is exactly what

we’ve set out to do today. That said,

what should we notice? To begin with, the Americans

were at a strategic impasse. For our younger students,

perhaps we should clarify the significance of the period between

1954 and 1974. Washington saw no alternative

other than invading North Vietnam. Yet we’re at the height of the Cold War,

and North Vietnam is allied with the Soviet Union. Entering into direct

conflict is not an option. Therefore, the only way to secure victory

would be to demoralise the enemy by inflicting heavy losses on them. The goal is to force them to come to the

negotiating table in a position of submission due to the scale of their losses. We are left with this striking image of

the late 1960s: the American military had amassed a staggering

half a million men, yet at that most critical juncture,

they found themselves unable to cross into North Vietnam. We are seeing a distinct similarity emerge. This brings me back to Iran.

In this instance, it is not the Cold War

that prevents American intervention, but the fact that the Americans

do not wish to intervene directly. We are therefore facing

the prospect of an exclusively aerial war; as we noted

in a previous session, and as

Svechin emphasised, such a war

has never proved sufficient. So that is why it is essential

to make this link. Yet this prompts a further enquiry: quite

apart from military and political objectives, one must also

account for a vital psychological dimension. Indeed, your earlier focus on

statistics underscored the role of communication and discourse;

it is precisely this psychological element that is so inextricably

linked to the prospect of victory. Yes, because achieving victory goes beyond

winning battles, it’s also winning hearts and minds,

That’s the problem, Olivier. Some might be wondering if they’ve

understood me correctly. Indeed: Winning hearts and minds. I am using the term in

the same sense as the American forces did when building their network of bases.

Their strategy—the very heart of the Vietnam conflict—was to extend a network across

every South Vietnamese village, based on the goal of

winning hearts and minds. Incidentally,

this approach draws on the theories of the French officer

David Galula. His work on counter-insurgency

became the blueprint for General Petraeus decades later

during the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq. The core argument is

that victory is unattainable without winning hearts and minds.

You must break the bond between the populace

and the existing political power, replacing it

with a governance that the people can

finally trust and embrace. That failed in Vietnam. Moreover, in the aftermath

of the election —as Henry Kissinger

says so astutely in Diplomacy— the situation unravelled.

I should note that Kissinger’s Diplomacy,

a seminal text in geopolitics, devotes no fewer than three chapters

to the Vietnam War. When one considers that the book spans from

the 19th century to the close of the 20th, the fact that three chapters are dedicated

exclusively to the Vietnam War serves as a powerful indicator of its

significance to our discussion. Kissinger says: Yes, but in this case, we’re

bombing to try and get out. That, too, is a comparison

or a parallel. We must try to put such pressure on the

opponent that, in reality, it ensures we are not in

a position of weakness in the balance of power during negotiations. That was the idea. We must, therefore, recall that at a

certain juncture, the plan essentially was to have the South Vietnamese forces assume

responsibility for defending their country. ‘Vietnamisation’ is a term

we often use ironically in geopolitics;

it is a convenient euphemism for a planned withdrawal, essentially telling

the local forces to ‘save yourself’. It is worth bearing in mind because it signals

that the Americans are indeed bombing, but the solution cannot be imposed from

above—it must come from the Iranian people The psychological factor is

thus very important. Naturally,

the stakes extend beyond the peoples directly affected.

This is also important for American society and the reputation of the American society

in the world. This returns us to the broader implications of

the two questions we outlined previously. You noted the

psychological factor seeking to win over the opponent, yet it’s also vital to not lose

the hearts and minds of one’s own people. Here, this concerns American society

and American democracy. I think this

is the right moment to better appreciate the validity

of the comparison, these parallels between

Vietnam and Iran. This may facilitate a more profound

French understanding of the scars Vietnam left upon US society

—a phenomenon which, I believe, has been somewhat diluted by

historical distance and geographical remoteness. Perhaps we can

start with an American victory. The Tết Offensive. Tết is the Indochinese New Year. This establishes the context and perspective. North Vietnam sought to catch the

South off guard—since the two states were, of of course, divided at the time—by launching

a major offensive during the Indochinese New Year. The offensive spanned from 31 January 1968

to 25 February 1968. It was an American victory. That’s not at all how

it was perceived. 1968 stands as the threshold of

the great protest era. In reality,

the American military may have secured a victory on the ground, but the

optics told a different story: the sight of the US embassy under siege

and the mounting toll of dead and wounded

sent a clear message that,

after fourteen years, the war was far from won. To return to my previous point:

we are winning the battles, but we are not winning the war. That’s why it is vital to have a clear

nexus between political and military objectives. In fact, I remember a particular

session that truly struck a chord with our followers. It was

provocatively titled: Are the Americans winning the war? One of our followers even

commented: How dare you even ask

such a question? In fact, they have military victories,

but then they leave. As they say: The writing is on the wall. Because the American

psyche will get a sudden jolt, as we’re focusing on hearts and minds. Suddenly, a whole host of

questions are being raised. Doubt is beginning to set in

because, until this point, every American conflict

—the First and Second World Wars, even Korea—

was underpinned by the certainty that they

were acting for the greater good. Suddenly, they’re starting to

ask themselves questions. Napalm, and an image

seen around the world. The victims remain etched in

images—specifically of that young girl in Vietnam running in a panic.

We later learn she had suffered second- and third-degree burns from the napalm being

dropped indiscriminately by US forces. This finds a cultural parallel in

Born on the 4th of July, a seminal film

worth revisiting. The story follows a man

from a staunchly patriotic family whose devotion to the United States

is literalised by the flag on their balcony.

When the son goes to war, he is suddenly confronted with its reality,

and returns home wounded. A very powerful image. He’s in a wheelchair and ends up

joining the anti-war peace movement, bearing the famous logo of

Peace and Love. The entire American society is

soon caught up in the moment. How can we not mention

the film Apocalypse Now? It is evident from this

film that a kind of madness is starting to take hold. There is an incredible scene where a

high-ranking American officer, climbing into his helicopter, happily

says that they must inspire the troops. He then cheerfully strikes a whole Vietnamese

village with napalm to the strains of Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’. Here, we see the full effect

being created: they are losing the support of the Vietnamese people

and, simultaneously, the support of the

American public. Moreover, there is also a corrosive

element, underscored by 2,000 deaths. And the Americans? They’ve

had two, three, four, five. But their deaths bear identities.

Their names are stories are told; their devastated families shown upon their return. Images of a coffin returning, a folded

American flag, and salute fired. That reality persists daily:

Monday, and then Tuesday, again on Wednesday. Again on Thursday, also on Friday.

It’s true on Saturday and also on Sunday. Then it’s true for a week; two weeks,

three weeks, four weeks, a month. It’s true on Christmas Day

and also New Year’s Day. It stays true for a year,

two or three years. Perhaps you now understand just

how it’s sinking in with the American people. Suddenly, there’s only one

word on everyone’s lips: Enough. That was the hidden threat of Vietnam:

a fracture from within. It is crucial to recognise that, beneath

the surface of American society, we are dealing with the deeply

ingrained myth of the American hero. To be perfectly clear:

the American hero is defined not by his victory,

but by his resilience. The comeback defines the hero. At this point, let’s use a sports analogy.

For my example, I’ll use the comebacks of

four famous athletes. Michael Jordan is a champion because

he came back after a break. In American football, John Elway

is a champion because he lost three Super Bowl finals, but then went on

to win two in 1997 and 1998. Similarly, we have two tennis legends like

Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe. Connors won in ’74, but then went through

a rough patch. Suddenly, in his 30s, we see an image of Connors with

fists raised, declaring: I am back. Here, Americans are buckling under the

weight of the very trait they prize above all others

—the quality to which they feel most fundamentally bound. That is what will lead to a sort

of crack, a fissure, an irreparable one, in the Vietnam War. With this backdrop now

firmly in place, another question inevitably

arises that bleeds into our main discussion

—the role of Trump’s voters, specifically

concerning the difficult path that had to be chosen regarding the Iranian war. Indeed, 'enough' might aptly

describe Donald Trump’s policy framework, or at least the vision he has projected since

commencing his second term; a comeback: the return of Donald Trump. How does this intervention in Iran

change the American public’s perception? It will be a catalyst. It will serve as the catalyst

for answering a question that continues to loom large

—a persistent frustration, even now, after the first dozen or so

months after having been elected for the second time as you’ve noted since

20 January 2025. What was this frustration? Almost an ambiguity, one might say. The fact is that

the Trumpian base—the very group under our consideration—is facing a

significant internal divide. Within the MAGA movement

—to use the common shorthand—

there is a significant faction of voters diametrically opposed to further

foreign intervention; they are haunted by the spectre of Vietnam,

compounded by the Four River Wars, 20 years in Afghanistan,

and the successive incursions into Iraq. So, the question that arises

is: intervention? Yes, we are definitely

choosing to intervene. This implies a reclaiming of the

mantle from Ronald Reagan, from whom Trump has appropriated

the slogan: Let's Make America Great Again. Let’s restore the USA to greatness. It’s quite clear that the

idea here is to say: we need to wipe the memory

of the Vietnam War. It’s clearly one part. Let’s look at a 1985 declaration

by Ronald Reagan: an astonishing piece of rhetoric

given the present context. In 1985, Ronald Reagan informed the

media and his audience that ‘I saw Rambo (First Blood Part II) last night. I know what to do (in international politics)

next time this happens’. Consider the essence

of Rambo II: an hour and forty-five minute

demonstration of a muscle-bound

American commando dismantling the North Vietnamese

military alone. That a President

of the United States would boast of his international strategy

by invoking such a film gives us pause for thought,

especially as we consider the counter-shock this proposes. As we

look ahead, we must wonder if American society will

truly follow Donald Trump in his effort to channel the spirit of Ronald Reagan

through this war in Iran, or if they will

emerge from it permanently

weary of the burdens

of global leadership. Because, clearly, this implies

a shift towards interventionism or isolationism. No doubt,

the United States’ 'best friends’ in Beijing will be viewing the fractures in

American society with absolute and undisguised satisfaction. I think you have managed to establish

the links we can draw between the situation in Vietnam and the situation

in Iran today. Is there another specific link that should be added

between the two situations? Yes, there are two wounds. It is this very logic that explains Reagan’s

apparently astonishing mention of Rambo II. We should not overlook the first

Rambo film, which offers a different perspective that’s much more subtle, and

even more psychological. This film, released in the early 1980s,

depicts a Vietnam veteran returning to a society that rejects him;

unable to find work, he drifts between towns

before eventually being

hunted down by the police. He is treated so poorly that he

simply breaks and finally rebels. He then uses his Green Beret training

to fight against the American police. The final scene is moving; his superior,

Colonel Trautman, to use the correct reference—is eventually deployed

to intervene, and simply says: John, you must stop now. John says: You know,

I fought for my country and now I’m rejected everywhere. You can certainly feel a real sense of unease. In fact, in the second film,

he asks: This time, are we going in to win? So, in fact, there are two wounds. The first was the

humiliation of withdrawal from Vietnam. To speak plainly, even if one were to

employ the most tactful of euphemisms, it was a rout—and a comprehensive

one at that. What links these events is the sense of rout

doubled by the humiliation in Iran —that inability to rescue the hostages from

the US embassy after the Islamic Republic emerged and Jimmy Carter’s

operation fell apart. And that’s where you sense that

suddenly, we’ll have a sort of... It went too far. That explains Ronald

Reagan’s election. There is,

moreover, another connection between Vietnam and Iran —one that might come as a surprise.

I refer to the Rockwell B-1 bomber, which was used for tactical operations

in the Iran War, just as the B-52 had been

used in the Vietnam War. Some of you may be thinking: wait a moment, why are we

concentrating so intently on this bomber? It is worth noting that under

Jimmy Carter, whose term is often cited as a low

point of US international relations, the

administration chose to stop production of the B-1,

with only four prototypes ever built. Ultimately, the B-1 was deemed a luxury

the USA could not afford; specifically, they could not

keep it with the Tomahawk, which was just then coming to the fore. These are names that carry a very specific

weight and a particular resonance now that

we are addressing Iran —and so, the B-1 had to be sacrificed. Why is this so important? Because Americans are suddenly

forced to acknowledge

that even with their massive expenditure of resources,

success is not guaranteed. What’s more, we’re no longer entirely sure

that going there was even right. On top of that, we Americans can

no longer afford to pay for our aircraft. At the very least, it was a moment of

trauma; that is the reality of it —a terrible

blow. Because, all of a sudden,

2 factors came together. This explains the reaction born of

a longing for revenge or a comeback, which led to Ronald Reagan’s election

in 1980 and his landslide

re-election victory in 1984. That’s a very important

point, because we have two separate wounds coming together here

—which might explain why there’s suddenly such a push in Iran to settle these scores

once and for all. Beyond these two wounds,

is there a final lesson we might draw from the comparison

between Vietnam and Iran? There is one final lesson from General Westmoreland, the

US general who commanded US forces between June 1964 and June 1968. I’m highlighting his position because

it’s clearly so important to what we’re talking about—and it brings us to what

I’d call the ultimate lesson. What insights

does he offer in retrospect through his subsequent body of work,

including popular encyclopaedias on the Vietnam War? He points out something quite

incredible: at the highest levels in Washington, people seemed to forget that

when an enemy is backed into a corner and facing defeat, they’ll

suddenly do anything—and I mean anything—

to try to turn things around. This is a really

important point, because it explains why the tide can suddenly turn

against us, even when we have all the resources and

it looks like we’re seconds away from

winning against an opponent that we’ve

driven to utter despair. Following this,

I am compelled to expand upon this point

—not necessarily verbatim— as it is remarkable to observe that

General Westmoreland draws upon Sun Tzu, a familiar figure for us,

as we also have a dedicated session on Sun Tzu. It is worth keeping in mind a few key

quotations here. First off, the most

important thing in war—the ultimate art, really—is to make the enemy lose heart. It is the power to fracture

the enemy’s society; to sow discord until the people are divided:

the elders against the young; traditionalists vs. modernists. This is precisely

what Kissinger so expertly delineates in those 3 chapters; the North Vietnamese leadership successfully executed this strategy

via diplomatic procrastination, and strategic images to

manipulate American public opinion. That brings us to a perspective that

seems very important to bear in mind. Because, in reality,

what have we noticed? It is this: far

more than the totality of resources or the scale of the arsenal,

what wins wars is the capacity to define a clear

military goal, perfectly aligned with a clear political purpose.

This political objective must be unmistakable

—not just to shorten the conflict, but so that the nation's people

can embrace it, support it, and stand as

a pillar of strength behind their army. When you boil it all down, it’s not about

how big or strong the walls are. It’s the spirit of the

valiant souls defend them. That

is a major lesson from the Vietnam War, which resonates strongly with what

is happening today in Iran. Fabrice, I suggest we stop to reflect

on this image of valiant souls. Thank you all for watching this session of

Rendez-Vous de la Géopolitique. We hope

to see you soon!