BUENOS AIRES — In a world increasingly fragmented, exports are no longer limited to soy, lithium, or energy. Israel, home to one of the planet’s most advanced military industries, exports something different: security. A word that, in practice, encompasses surveillance technologies, population control, and conflict management developed in contexts of occupation and permanent tension.

For decades, Israeli companies and consultancies have operated across Latin America with a presence as pervasive as it is silent. The region, marked by deep inequalities, institutional crises, and high levels of violence, has become fertile ground for testing tools originally designed to manage populations considered “risky.”

What is remarkable is not only the expansion but the logic behind it. Israel does not sell simple devices; it exports complete systems: predictive monitoring software, low-intensity warfare strategies, tools capable of mapping entire neighborhoods, and vehicles designed for dense urban operations. More than products, it sells a method: a way of reading territory and categorizing its inhabitants. The paradox is clear. While many Latin American governments publicly condemn Israel’s offensive in Gaza, they quietly maintain cooperation agreements in security, training, and technology, strengthening Israeli influence in the region.

Conflict a methodology

The recent creation of Israel’s Ministry of Defense Artificial Intelligence and Autonomy Administration does not mark a new beginning; it deepens a model decades in the making. Israel has turned its geopolitical environment—a constant state of alert—into a perpetual innovation machine where the boundaries between military, academia, and industry nearly disappear.

 “Israel, home to one of the planet’s most advanced military industries, exports something different: security—a word that, in practice, encompasses surveillance technologies, population control, and conflict management developed in contexts of occupation and permanent tension.”The so-called “triple helix” functions more as a mindset than a structure. Military units like 8200 acts as elite training grounds for programmers and data specialists; startups often emerge directly from military needs; the state invests, absorbs, tests, and reinjects technology in a continuous cycle. Innovation here is not a symbolic value—it is a survival imperative. That is why military AI, laser weapons, autonomous systems, and algorithmic surveillance are part of public policy. In Israel, technology is not a luxury; it is a strategic frontier. And frontiers—especially in states that combine military power, technological capacity, and geopolitical ambition—are always meant to be crossed, expanded, and imposed.

Security as strategic commodity

In this ecosystem, Israel has turned security into a high-value geopolitical product, opening doors where traditional diplomacy stalls. Many of its companies, founded by veterans of military tech units, sell everything from police training to algorithmic surveillance platforms, always claiming that their solutions are “field-tested.” That promise, both alluring and disturbing, has made Israel a preferred provider for governments seeking fast fixes to deep social conflicts. What they import is not just technology—it is a framework of thought: the notion that internal problems can be treated as military threats, and that technical efficiency can replace politics.

From Gaza to Latin America

When Plasan Guarder riot-control vehicles arrive in the ports of Chile, Brazil, Peru, or Colombia, they do not arrive alone—they bring a whole architecture of control. Originally designed to disperse crowds, operate in densely populated areas, and act in high-conflict scenarios, these vehicles are purchased by governments across the ideological spectrum. Israeli military technology has a singular quality: it appeals to any regime that frames security as order enforced above all else. The problem is not acquisition but use. In several countries, these vehicles—along with Arad rifles and IWI firearms—are deployed under the banner of “public security,” but their presence is primarily repressive, targeting vulnerable populations. In Brazil, they enter favelas under the legitimacy of fear; in contexts where state violence is disproportionately exercised against poor youth, Black communities, and migrants. The logic is identical to that applied in occupied territories: geography changes, the control mechanism does not.

In Argentina, President Javier Milei has signaled his intent to replace traditional weapons like the FAL with Arad and IWI models. It is no coincidence: Israel exports tools developed where exception is the norm, and they find rapid adoption in countries that manage their own “sacrifice zones.”

Elbit Systems: The discreet empire

Elbit Systems occupies a near-philosophical role: a laboratory where war becomes software. Its catalog is not just weapons—it is an infrastructure of vision and control. Drones patrol without pilots; C4I systems organize battlefields like diagrams; encrypted radios and sensors translate the world into data. Latin America is not its largest market, but it is strategically vital. Multi-million-dollar contracts for military modernization, Hermes drones monitoring borders, cybersecurity systems in Chile, Brazil, and Colombia, and the recent deployment of PULS artillery in Peru with local production illustrate a presence beyond simple sales. Elbit does not sell weapons: it sells technological dependence, a continuous relationship of updates, maintenance, interoperability, and advice. It does not hand over arms—it inserts itself into the institution, shaping operational capacity and security culture.

 “Elbit does not sell weapons: it sells technological dependence, a continuous relationship of updates, maintenance, interoperability, and advice.”In its latest results presentation, Elbit showcased how its systems are widely used by the Israeli army, tested in Gaza—a stark reminder that these technologies emerge in contexts of occupation and repression before being exported.

The long shadow of experiments

If any country illustrates Israel’s deep integration into state structures, it is Guatemala. In the 1980s, during the U.S.-backed dirty war, Israel trained military and police forces, sold arms, provided advisory support, and built networks that survived the Peace Accords. Guatemala became a political and technological laboratory, a model later extended to Mexico and the U.S.-Mexico border, where poor and indigenous migrants navigate a securitized landscape equipped with technologies originally designed to control Palestinians: sensors, cameras, algorithms, tear gas, and tactical training.

In Ecuador, MDT David Israeli armored vehicles are embedded in the government’s narrative of an “internal war” on crime. Their most notable use, however, occurred outside active conflict: violating Mexico’s embassy in Quito, deploying force to capture former Vice President Jorge Glas—an event whose diplomatic impact still resonates. President Daniel Noboa’s alliance with Israel deepens this trajectory: military cooperation, intelligence sharing, tech transfer, and strategic alignment. In Argentina, President Javier Milei has advanced agreements encompassing cyber defense, drones, border surveillance, light arms, joint seminars, G2G contracts, and satellite communications. Milei does not merely adopt Israeli technology: he adopts its security imagination, its grammar of the internal enemy, and its geopolitical logic of control.

The most dangerous export: Total surveillance

Among all exports, none is as alarming as Pegasus, NSO Group’s software that turns any phone into a total informer. Its use has been documented in Mexico and other countries in the region. Pegasus inaugurates a form of domination without a body: it watches, records, archives, anticipates. In the 21st century, much of Latin America exists under the gaze of invisible systems, controlled without even realizing it.

*The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect Tehran Times’ editorial stance.