NATO Warns: Legal Limits Tie Our Hands as Russia Sabotages Europe

One figure at the eye of the storm is Admiral Giuseppe Cavo Dragone, a man who, despite years of speaking almost entirely in the clipped language of bureaucratic communiqués, suddenly let a sliver of candor slip into public view. In a recent Financial Times interview, Dragone did more than suggest NATO might be running out of patience with its usual “defensive” posture. No, this time he mused about whether the alliance needs to think less like a chess player and more like a boxer—maybe even throw the first punch, at least where cyberattacks or sabotage are concerned. “It’s further away from our normal way of thinking or behavior,” he admitted, a rare public confession for a military official at his level. He was quick to note that “preemptive” actions, if they ever happen, would still be rooted—at least in theory—in defense. Dragone hesitated, as if weighing each word, declaring that NATO’s legal and ethical scruples make its path much harder than Moscow’s. “I don’t want to say it’s a loser position, but it is a harder position than our counterpart’s.”

NATO’s headaches here aren’t just theoretical. In the past year, several member states have confronted real-world incidents that look suspiciously like hybrid warfare—part subterfuge, part brute force, difficult to classify and almost impossible to respond to within the tidy boxes of international law. Consider Finland, a country that knows something about Russian pressure: investigators there followed a trail of evidence after a merchant vessel, flying the Cook Islands’ flag, was found to have snapped undersea data cables. The courts tossed the case for lack of jurisdiction, illustrating how legal nooks and crannies can stymie even the most diligent prosecution. Meanwhile, Poland has dealt with drone incursions and suspicious disruptions to rail lines; cables on the Baltic seabed have been sliced in places that can’t be reached without considerable planning.

Publicly, the Russian response arrived with the familiar vitriol. Maria Zakharova, the Kremlin’s reliably incendiary foreign ministry mouthpiece, denounced Dragone’s comments as “an extremely irresponsible step,” warning of Western escalation. Denis Gonchar, Russia’s ambassador in Belgium, told anyone who would listen that NATO’s posturing was just another round of “scaremongering” to spook the European public, insisting—characteristically—that talk of a Russian threat to NATO is little more than fantasy.

To Western analysts, such complaints ring hollow. Carrie Filipetti, who heads the Vandenberg Coalition and knows a thing or two about UN backrooms, didn’t mince words: “Given Russia’s unilateral invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the idea that Russia is warning about NATO being irresponsible is laughable,” she said in a recent phone interview. Filipetti pointed out that Putin has brushed aside every chance to end the war, instead opting to turn the screws ever tighter on Kyiv and, by extension, the entire European security order.

Former U.S. Air Force General Bruce Carlson was even more direct, arguing that “Putin only understands one thing and that’s power.” He credited the Trump administration (a remark that raised eyebrows in some quarters) with beefing up NATO’s deterrent capability, and insisted that Western leaders should leverage every available means to prod Moscow toward negotiations. The balance, he stressed, is about pushing—hard enough to matter, without tipping the continent over the edge.

But, for all the bluster, NATO’s own limitations are painfully clear. Perhaps Dragone’s most telling admission was not about offensive postures, but about the alliance’s binding constraints. He cited legal requirements, persistent public scrutiny, and ethical boundaries—all of which, he admitted, collectively hamstring Western options compared to the relatively freewheeling tactics sometimes seen from Russian operatives.

If you speak to diplomats presently shuttling between European capitals, there’s genuine fear that the next miscalculation might not be so easily walked back. Article 4 consultations triggered in Warsaw after drones crossed Polish airspace in September brought the alliance nervously close to a tipping point, prompting Prime Minister Donald Tusk to warn that Europe hasn’t been this close to open conflict since 1945. Aid convoys to Ukraine stalled when rail links were sabotaged; sabotage and cyberattacks have also brushed the shores of Denmark, the UK, and beyond.

For Ukraine, the calculus is shifting. With Washington’s backing now increasingly contingent on Kyiv demonstrating concrete steps toward peace, and the threat of a wider conflagration looming, many leaders find themselves caught in the grey zone—squinting to see where deterrence ends and provocation begins.

The result is an uneasy dance along a very narrow ledge. Both NATO and Moscow respond to each other, sometimes with gestures that look defensive, sometimes with moves that skirt the edges of escalation. The risks are real: every cable cut, every drone sighting, every accusatory press conference adds another layer of tension atop already frayed nerves.

No simple solution presents itself, and if you ask those who’ve been part of these deliberations for decades, you’ll hear an unusual amount of uncertainty in their voices. The path between holding the line and tumbling into outright war is perilously thin—and, perhaps uncomfortably, becoming thinner still.