According to information cited by Reuters, Riyadh is considering converting approximately $2 billion in existing loans to Islamabad into an arms deal involving the procurement of JF-17 fighter jets, jointly developed by Pakistan and China. While the agreement is presented as a pragmatic arrangement that would ease Pakistan’s public finances and offer Saudi Arabia a more cost-effective alternative to Western fighters, analysts note that it also reflects a broader Chinese calculation: an indirect re-entry into markets that have previously shown reluctance toward Chinese weapons systems, with Pakistan acting as a politically acceptable intermediary. Beyond its immediate scope, the deal raises important questions for Europe regarding arms export norms, strategic autonomy, and the durability of the rules-based international order.

In this context, reporting in Asian and financial media sheds additional light on the structure of the proposed arrangement. A report by Asia Times (January 2026) notes that the “debt-for-arms” formula forms part of Pakistan’s broader effort to leverage its defense industry as a tool of economic relief, at a time when Saudi Arabia is seeking to diversify its airpower options beyond traditional Western suppliers. At the same time, Moneycontrol (January 2026) reports that the total value of the deal could reach $4 billion if weapons, training, simulators, spare parts, and long-term technical support are included.

At first glance, the agreement resembles a classic debt-for-arms swap. Yet the export history of the JF-17 raises serious questions. Nearly a decade ago, China aggressively marketed the aircraft as a low-cost, multi-role fighter to countries such as Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Myanmar, and Saudi Arabia. Most of these countries eventually walked away from negotiations. Myanmar was the sole buyer, but by 2023 the majority of its aircraft were reportedly grounded due to chronic problems with engines, avionics, radar, and structural fatigue—raising serious questions about the platform’s operational credibility.

The Myanmar experience had broader repercussions. It sharply limited China’s ability to promote fighter aircraft directly in a number of markets and cast doubt on the narrative of technological maturity that Beijing seeks to cultivate. For states in Southeast Asia and the Middle East that carefully balance between the West and China, this precedent proved a deterrent, reinforcing caution toward direct reliance on Chinese combat aircraft.

It is within this environment that the sudden surge in Pakistani announcements regarding JF-17 exports has prompted understandable skepticism. Over the past year, Islamabad has allowed reports to surface of potential deals stretching from North Africa to South and East Asia: a purported $4 billion defense agreement with Libya, talks in advanced stages with Bangladesh, and now contacts with Saudi Arabia—a country long considered firmly embedded in the Western airpower ecosystem. The geography of these moves points to a more ambitious strategy: Pakistan’s attempt to position itself as a defense hub within a loose alignment of Muslim-majority states extending from the Middle East to parts of Asia.

Within this same strategic framework, the JF-17 is promoted not only as an affordable fighter jet, but also as a politically “neutral” solution for countries seeking to reduce dependence on Western suppliers without turning directly to China or Russia. Yet behind this narrative lies a structural constraint. Pakistan lacks the industrial base to execute multiple large, multinational orders simultaneously within a short time frame. The scale required inevitably points to the involvement of a third actor.

This is where what some analysts describe as China’s “backdoor” strategy comes into focus. Under this model, Beijing quietly supplies complete aircraft or critical sub-systems, while Pakistan appears as the official exporter. Such an arrangement allows China to avoid the political resistance that often accompanies direct Chinese arms sales, to circumvent Western diplomatic pressure, and to retest markets that had previously closed their doors. At the same time, it functions as a reputational buffer, ensuring that any operational shortcomings are not attributed directly to Beijing.

Seen through this lens, the implications of the China–Pakistan defense partnership extend far beyond their bilateral relationship. For Europe, this model undermines the ability to attach political and regulatory conditions to arms exports, offering third countries alternative procurement pathways that bypass restrictions and conditionalities related to human rights, transparency, and end-use assurances. In doing so, it weakens the European Union’s soft power in the security domain and challenges its long-standing role as a norm-setter in global arms governance.

For the United States, the consequences are equally significant. Using Pakistan as an intermediary enables Beijing to expand its defense footprint without directly triggering American red lines, reducing the effectiveness of sanctions, political pressure, and diplomatic deterrence. Of particular concern is the prospect of Chinese technology—even indirectly—being embedded in the air forces of states closely aligned with Washington, such as Saudi Arabia. Issues of interoperability, data security, and future strategic alignment come sharply into focus at a time when the United States is seeking to consolidate security blocs in both the Indo-Pacific and the Middle East. Competition with China, it appears, is no longer conducted solely through alliances, but increasingly in the gray zones of defense diplomacy.

Ultimately, the central question is not merely whether the JF-17 will prove to be a reliable fighter aircraft. The deeper issue concerns the emerging model of geopolitical penetration: a system of indirect exports, politically filtered and strategically insulated, that blurs the line between arms trade and geopolitical influence. The aircraft may carry Pakistani markings, but the strategic imprint behind the deals is increasingly—and unmistakably—Chinese.

The American dimension of this shift takes on added significance when viewed through the prism of Donald Trump’s stated approach to international law. His remarks regarding Greenland—where he argued that his own moral judgment should take precedence over international legal constraints—were not simply rhetorical provocation. They reflected a broader, power-centric conception of governance that places strategic will above institutional norms. If such an approach becomes entrenched, it risks eroding the very foundations of the postwar international order.

In such an environment, the consequences do not remain confined to U.S. policy choices. They reverberate outward, creating a domino effect in which the delegitimization of international law by one major power establishes precedents for others. In this sense, American unilateralism does not only weaken Washington’s position over time; it also lowers the threshold for China to justify its own authoritarian expansion in Asia. Despite ideological differences, both contemporary Chinese governance and personalized, power-driven leadership models elsewhere share a common logic: the elevation of state or leader above institutional and legal constraint.

This logic runs counter to any durable conception of international legality. As the United States undermines the rules-based system it once championed, it risks accelerating a global shift toward a world governed less by law than by power. In such a world, Europe will face a stark choice: whether to defend the norms and institutions that underpin its strategic influence—or to adapt to a geopolitical landscape in which those rules are increasingly treated as optional.