Ukrainian arms makers say red tape on defence exports is costing them contracts

Ukrainian weapons manufacturers are warning that the country's fast-growing defence export sector is losing ground to rivals because of the difficulty of obtaining licences to sell abroad. In a France 24 report published in the Europe section on 28 September 2026, industry figures are said to describe a competitive edge gradually being eroded by what they regard as unduly stringent export authorisation rules.

The warning comes at a striking moment. Over the past several years, Ukraine has moved from being a near-exclusive consumer of foreign arms to becoming a supplier in its own right, with domestic output of everything from artillery ammunition and drones to armoured vehicles and electronic warfare systems rising sharply. What began as emergency wartime production has been presented by officials and industry as a potential pillar of the national economy once fighting subsides. That ambition, however, depends heavily on the ability to win and deliver export orders — and licences are the gateway.

The complaint is not that Ukraine has an export control regime, which virtually every arms-producing state maintains. It is about pace, predictability and paperwork. Licence applications tied to foreign sales can require extensive documentation on end users, end uses and the re-transfer of weapons, particularly for items that have dual civilian and military applications. Producers say lengthy administrative review and frequent refinements of applications can push back delivery schedules, and that rivals willing to move faster can take the business elsewhere.

Why those rules exist is not a trivial point. Sanctions regimes, arms embargoes and United Nations reporting obligations all require states to check where weapons end up. Controls are the primary defence against a missile or drone component finding its way to a battlefield banned by international law — and Ukraine, which has repeatedly accused Russia of supplying weapons systems to actors in conflicts where they were prohibited, is hardly in a position to relax scrutiny. The industry response is that the cost of compliance is being borne disproportionately by Ukrainian firms, while competitors in less exposed jurisdictions face lighter processes.

The timing of the report is significant. It appears just days after France 24's coverage of a European sanctions decision that saw EU members lift measures against two Russian individuals, and only a few days after a replay of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky's address to the UN General Assembly. The sanctions reversal in particular underscores a broader European debate: pressure on Moscow, including restrictions on Russian individuals and entities, has not been applied with equal force across the bloc, while European governments are simultaneously asking industry to expand output and reduce dependence on external suppliers.

There is also a market dimension that the industry warnings implicitly raise. Global buyers of military equipment, including states in the Middle East, Africa, Asia-Pacific and increasingly Europe itself, have more suppliers to choose from than they did a decade ago. In a competitive tender, a delivery delay measured in months can be decisive — particularly where a customer needs spare parts, munitions or command-and-control systems on a specific operational timeline. If Ukrainian offers are held back by licensing friction while competitors quote faster, the reputational damage can outlast a single lost contract.

Export licensing is often discussed as a security instrument. Less often discussed is its economic cost. Licensing officers need to assess the legal status of a customer, the stability of the territory where equipment will be used, and whether components contain controlled technology. None of that is trivial, and the absence of published data makes the scale of the delay difficult to verify from outside. Transparency about average processing times, refusal rates and the reasons for refusals would allow an objective assessment of whether Ukrainian regulation is at odds with international practice or simply reflects a small, overburdened state agency.

There is a second-order concern running the other way. Governments have become more sensitive than ever about the destination of arms and dual-use technology, and that sensitivity is rising across Europe. Even a streamlined Ukrainian regime would operate in an environment in which customers may be reluctant to proceed if Washington, Brussels or another capital has reservations about the end user. In that environment, a reliable process, transparent criteria and early diplomatic engagement become a genuine competitive asset rather than a mere administrative chore.

For Ukraine, the stakes are unusually high. Defence exports bring foreign currency, establish the diplomatic relationships that often precede future arms purchases, and demonstrate that the country's industrial base can serve partners rather than only its own armed forces. Industry sources have been vocal in recent years that European markets are an obvious first target, given political sympathy and existing supply lines. Turning that political opening into signed contracts, however, requires a licensing system that is both strict and swift.

The industry has been asked to prove it can be trusted with sophisticated weaponry, and a report of this kind suggests that firms feel the answer is being given in the form of administrative friction. Whether the response comes in the form of additional staffing, a simplified regime for low-risk categories, or parallel approvals for NATO and EU members is not set out in the France 24 item. For now, the message from Ukrainian manufacturers is clear: keeping the doors shut protects nothing if it simultaneously locks the country out of the market it needs to enter.

It is a warning worth taking seriously, but also one that deserves scrutiny. Arms exports carry real strategic weight, and a state that has been subjected to years of war has reason to move carefully. The question is whether the current system is careful without being prohibitive. That distinction — between safeguards and self-sabotage — is where the industry's argument will be tested, and it is likely to become one of the more overlooked fault lines in Europe's widening debate about how to build a serious defence industrial capacity.