Belgium has proposed that its additional Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II aircraft be assembled in Italy, rather than in the United States. Belgian Defense Minister Theo Francken announced the proposal in an April 14, 2025, interview with Het Laatste Nieuws, citing discussions with Italian Defense Minister Guido Crosetto. At the heart of the plan is the Cameri Final Assembly and Check Out (FACO) facility in northern Italy—a hub already active in assembling jets for several European allies.
While the idea may sound like a logistical adjustment, it carries deeper implications for defense sovereignty, transatlantic cooperation, and Europe’s growing ambition to build a more self-reliant military-industrial base. With geopolitical tensions escalating and NATO alliances adapting, the debate over where and how to produce the F-35 could shape the trajectory of Western airpower and economic strategy for years to come.
The F-35 Lightning II is more than just a fighter jet—it’s a flying supercomputer, a data-sharing nexus, and a cornerstone of NATO’s modern airpower doctrine. Designed by Lockheed Martin, the fifth-generation jet fuses stealth, advanced sensors, and real-time network-enabled operations to create a platform that transcends traditional roles.
There are three F-35 variants: the F-35A for conventional runways (Belgium’s choice), the F-35B for short takeoff and vertical landing, and the F-35C, tailored for aircraft carriers. The F-35A, with its sharply angled frame and a powerful Pratt & Whitney F135 engine, reaches Mach 1.6 and has a combat radius over 600 nautical miles. What sets it apart is its sensor suite—especially the AN/APG-81 AESA radar and Distributed Aperture System (DAS)—which grants 360-degree situational awareness and unparalleled battlefield connectivity.
The aircraft’s ability to fuse data from multiple sources into a single display allows pilots to detect threats, coordinate with allies, and strike with precision. It’s a jet built not just for combat but for command and control—a network node in the sky.
Belgium’s relationship with the F-35 began in 2018, when it selected the aircraft to replace its aging fleet of F-16 Fighting Falcons, in service since the late 1970s. The decision followed a competitive process that also considered the Eurofighter Typhoon and the French Dassault Rafale, but the F-35’s interoperability with NATO systems proved decisive.
The $6.5 billion procurement for 34 jets includes not just aircraft but also training, maintenance, and infrastructure upgrades. The first Belgian F-35A rolled off Lockheed’s Fort Worth assembly line in December 2023 and was sent to Luke Air Force Base in Arizona for pilot training. Belgium expects full operational capability by 2030, with jets stationed at Florennes and Kleine-Brogel air bases—each undergoing massive renovations to accommodate the new stealth fighters.
But the program has not been smooth. Belgium, like other F-35 operators, has faced delays related to the critical Technology Refresh 3 (TR-3) upgrade, which boosts the aircraft’s processing power to enable future capabilities. These delays highlight the complexity—and fragility—of the F-35 supply and upgrade chain.
Francken’s proposal to shift the production of Belgium’s future F-35s from Fort Worth to Italy’s Cameri FACO could appear, at first glance, as a cost-cutting or logistical maneuver. But it’s more likely a strategic bet on Europe’s long-term defense posture.
Cameri is no newcomer to F-35 production. Built in 2013 as a joint venture between Lockheed Martin and Italian defense giant Leonardo, the FACO has assembled F-35s for both Italy and the Netherlands. It also supports regional maintenance and repairs. Switzerland has opted to produce 24 of its 36 F-35As there. With state-of-the-art facilities and proximity to other European users, Cameri offers not just convenience, but a pathway toward more autonomous defense operations within Europe.
Francken argued the shift would create jobs, support the EU’s push for regional defense spending, and strengthen Europe’s defense industrial base—a narrative aligned with the European Commission’s broader goals. EU policies increasingly encourage member states to spend defense funds within Europe to qualify for joint procurement subsidies and borrowing schemes.
But Francken’s plan also stirs a broader debate: How far can Europe go in developing defense autonomy while relying on a U.S.-centric system like the F-35?
The F-35, after all, remains deeply embedded in U.S. industrial, technical, and political frameworks. Lockheed Martin’s supply chain spans 45 states and 11 partner countries, but the core systems—especially software and weapons integration—remain under American oversight. Even the most advanced European facilities like Cameri rely on U.S.-based components and require Washington’s approval for technology transfers.
Critics question whether real autonomy is possible when so much of the aircraft’s functionality—like the encrypted communications, mission data files, and maintenance diagnostics—is tightly controlled by the U.S. Defense Department.
Moreover, there’s the risk of supply chain strain. Fort Worth’s production lines are optimized for scale and efficiency. Diverting production to Cameri could disrupt timelines, increase costs, or create capacity bottlenecks, especially if multiple countries follow Belgium’s lead.
Still, Francken’s proposal isn’t isolated. Switzerland’s decision to assemble most of its F-35s at Cameri reflects a growing trend among European buyers to participate more actively in their defense procurement. It’s a response to pandemic-induced supply chain fragility, energy insecurity, and broader geopolitical instability.
Since Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, European nations have ramped up defense spending—Belgium included. Brussels plans to boost its military budget by €4 billion annually, aiming to hit NATO’s 2% GDP spending benchmark. These funds must go somewhere, and localizing production offers both political cover and economic rationale.
Other European F-35 users are watching closely. The Netherlands already uses Cameri for sustainment. Norway and Poland, with larger fleets, may hesitate to shift away from Fort Worth due to delivery timelines. But the idea is now on the table—and that could change the power dynamics within the program.
Belgium’s move raises questions about NATO’s coherence. The F-35 was conceived as a joint fighter for a joint force. By standardizing aircraft across the alliance, it aimed to improve interoperability, lower maintenance costs, and streamline logistics. These goals still hold, but production shifts could fragment the program’s unified supply chain.
On the other hand, placing production facilities in Europe could enhance readiness and reduce logistical burdens. Shipping aircraft from Texas to Europe is costly and time-consuming. Assembling jets closer to where they’ll be stationed could boost responsiveness in times of crisis.
The challenge is balancing national economic interests with alliance cohesion. If every country demands local production, the program risks inefficiencies. But if some countries can localize without sacrificing performance, the model could evolve.
At a symbolic level, Francken’s proposal signals Europe’s desire to be more than a consumer of U.S. defense products—it wants to be a partner, or even a peer. The EU’s Permanent Structured Cooperation (PESCO) initiative aims to build joint European capabilities. While the F-35 doesn’t fall under this framework, Belgium’s push for regional production echoes the spirit of PESCO: shared defense, built in Europe.
This also speaks to domestic politics. Belgian taxpayers, like many in Europe, question the cost of U.S. military equipment. At roughly $76 million per jet, the F-35 is a high-ticket item. Local production, even if only partial, allows governments to argue that taxpayer money is being reinvested into the domestic and regional economy.
Still, there’s a fine line. The F-35’s greatest strength is its shared development and unified standards. Too much localization could dilute that advantage.
For the United States, Belgium’s initiative is a wake-up call. The F-35 has served as a diplomatic bridge—13 countries fly it, and its proliferation has solidified American defense leadership. But European ambitions, if not managed collaboratively, could challenge that leadership.
Lockheed Martin, too, has a stake. While expanding Cameri’s role might offer strategic flexibility, it also threatens to undercut Fort Worth’s production volume—and the jobs tied to it.
Ultimately, Francken’s proposal tests whether Europe and the U.S. can adapt the F-35 program to a multipolar defense economy. If Cameri succeeds in ramping up output without undercutting quality or coordination, it could become a model for future transatlantic projects. If it struggles, the push for European autonomy might backfire—leading to delays, cost overruns, and friction within NATO.
Belgium’s suggestion to assemble additional F-35s in Italy may seem like a modest logistical tweak, but it marks a potential inflection point. It encapsulates broader questions about how nations balance sovereignty with alliance obligations, economic pragmatism with military strategy, and regional ambitions with global partnerships.
Whether this becomes a one-off experiment or a wider shift depends on how other European nations respond—and how the U.S. chooses to engage. If done right, this could usher in a more balanced, flexible model for global defense cooperation. If mishandled, it risks splintering a program that was meant to unify.
