Imperialism never disappeared – it adapted
Samuel P. Huntington, the influential American political scientist whose ideas shaped much of Western foreign policy – particularly that of the United States – once made a blunt observation about the foundations of global power. In his controversial book The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order, he wrote that “The West won the world not by the superiority of its ideas or values or religion […] but rather by its superiority in applying organised violence. Westerners often forget this fact; non-Westerners never do.”
Huntington’s remark captures an uncomfortable historical reality: the modern international order did not emerge solely through diplomacy, law, or moral persuasion, but through conquest, coercion, and the systematic application of force. The persistence of war in contemporary geopolitics suggests that this logic of organised violence did not disappear with the end of formal colonialism – it merely adapted to new global structures.
Recent developments in places such as Iran and Venezuela have reignited global debate about the persistence of imperial power in international politics. The outrage surrounding these events has largely focused on whether international law was violated or whether particular leaders acted recklessly. But such discussions often miss a deeper question: are these actions merely deviations from the rules of the international order, or are they symptoms of the system itself?
Too often, wars and armed conflicts are individualised. Public debate tends to attribute them to the erratic conduct of particular governments or leaders. This framing shifts attention away from the hierarchical nature of the global order and the structural forces that sustain it. In doing so, it takes a broken system off the hook. A different political leadership may produce a form of what peace scholars call “negative peace” – the temporary absence of violence – while leaving the deeper structural causes of conflict untouched.
If we examine recent geopolitical crises through this lens, an important question emerges: Does blaming the current ruling establishments in Washington or Tel Aviv provide a sufficient explanation for these conflicts? While individual leaders ultimately authorise wars, their decisions are often shaped by enduring ideological frameworks. One of the most prominent among them is American exceptionalism – the belief that the United States possesses a unique moral authority to shape the global order. In many ways, this doctrine echoes older imperial claims of civilizational superiority. A similar logic appears in Zionism, whose narrative of historical entitlement and civilizational mission carries a related sense of exceptionalism that informs Israeli state policy.
And how useful is the widespread outrage over violations of international law when such laws have historically done little to restrain powerful states? Understanding contemporary wars requires looking beyond individual decisions to the structural logic of global power.
The structural logic of power politics
One influential explanation comes from the international relations scholar John Mearsheimer. In his book The Tragedy of Great Power Politics, Mearsheimer argues that the structure of the international system compels powerful states to seek maximum power to ensure their survival. Because the global system lacks a central authority capable of enforcing rules – a condition known as anarchy – states must ultimately rely on their own capabilities for security.
This structural condition produces what Mearsheimer calls the “tragedy” of great-power politics. War, in this view, is not simply the result of aggressive leaders or diplomatic miscalculations. Rather, it emerges from systemic pressures that push states into competition and mistrust. Even states that prefer peace may feel compelled to expand their power because failing to do so could leave them vulnerable to rivals. Conflict, therefore, becomes an enduring feature of international politics rather than an occasional anomaly.
Mearsheimer’s analysis also challenges the optimism of liberal internationalism. Institutions such as the United Nations, he argues, possess little independent ability to restrain powerful states. Democracy does not eliminate geopolitical competition, and economic interdependence cannot fully override strategic rivalry. As a result, periods of peace are often fragile and temporary. Power politics never truly disappear.
From this perspective, the most reliable way for a state to ensure its security is to become the most powerful actor in its region. Mearsheimer points to the United States itself as an example. After establishing dominance in the Western Hemisphere, Washington consistently worked to prevent the emergence of rival hegemons in other strategic regions, including Europe, East Asia, and West Asia.
Yet geopolitical competition is not only about military power or territorial influence. It is also deeply connected to economic resources.
Resource imperialism – the attempt by powerful countries to control the natural resources of other regions – remains embedded in the contemporary global economic system. The competitive dynamics of this global capitalist economy further intensify this struggle, pushing states to secure strategic resources and geopolitical influence in order to maintain or elevate their position within the international hierarchy. Thus, the vulnerability of countries such as Iran or Venezuela cannot be explained solely by their possession of valuable resources. Their position within the hierarchical structure of the global order also plays a crucial role.
In today’s increasingly fragmented and multipolar world, major powers compete not only over territory but also over the control of global resource flows – who extracts resources, who processes them, and who governs their circulation within the international economy. When dominant powers can no longer maintain their influence through financial mechanisms such as sanctions, debt regimes, or currency dominance, they may resort to more direct forms of coercion, including military pressure.
This dynamic disproportionately affects countries located in what is often called the global periphery – regions whose resources are integrated into the world economy on unequal terms. But the persistence of this hierarchy raises another important question: is global inequality merely a product of strategic competition, or does it reflect deeper historical structures?
Race and the foundation of the world order
Long before contemporary debates about globalisation or great-power rivalry, the sociologist and activist W. E. B. Du Bois argued that the modern international order was built upon racialized imperial hierarchy. In works such as The World and Africa (1947) and the essay “The Souls of White Folk,” Du Bois traced European global dominance to centuries of slavery, colonial conquest, and economic exploitation.
For Du Bois, the global colour line was not simply a cultural or social phenomenon but a political and economic system that structured the distribution of power in the modern world. European empires, he argued, claimed ownership over vast regions of the globe through both force and ideology, presenting their domination as a civilising mission while extracting enormous wealth from colonised societies.
Although the formal structures of colonial rule have largely disappeared, many of the hierarchies that Du Bois identified continue to shape contemporary politics. Debates about immigration, national identity, and cultural belonging in Western societies often echo older ideas about civilizational hierarchy.
Recent political rhetoric in the United States illustrates how these ideas continue to circulate in modern discourse. In a recent address, Marco Rubio endorsed a vision of American identity rooted in European and Christian civilizational heritage. He suggested that although geographically located in the Western Hemisphere, the United States remains fundamentally European in character and warned that migration from Africa, Asia, and Latin America threatens the cultural cohesion of Western societies. Framed as a defence of sovereignty, this rhetoric reflects older civilizational narratives that historically justified imperial expansion.
The connection between such rhetoric and global power politics is not accidental. Both Mearsheimer and Du Bois describe world politics as structured in ways that generate subordination. Mearsheimer attributes this dynamic to the anarchic nature of the international system, which pushes great powers toward competition and dominance. Du Bois, by contrast, locates the roots of global hierarchy in racialised capitalist-imperial exploitation. While their explanations differ, both frameworks highlight how structural forces produce recurring patterns of domination in world politics – patterns that frequently manifest through war.
If global politics is structured by such hierarchies of power and domination, it also raises an important question: what role does international law actually play in restraining them?
Power, impunity and the limits of international law
In the aftermath of major military interventions, public debate often turns to the question of legality. When powerful states conduct assassinations, invasions, or covert operations, critics frequently argue that such actions violate international law. While these criticisms are important, they raise a deeper puzzle: if international law prohibits aggression, why does it so often fail to prevent it?
Challenging the countries at the top of the global hierarchy is inherently difficult because the international system itself is structured to preserve the privileges of established powers. Dominant states – often led by the United States and its allies – play a decisive role in shaping the rules of trade, security, and international law, making it far harder for weaker states to narrow the gap.
History suggests that such violations are not rare exceptions but recurring features of global politics. The American journalist Vincent Bevins provides a striking illustration of this pattern in his book The Jakarta Method. Bevins argues that during the Cold War, the United States and its allies supported a series of mass anti-communist purges designed to eliminate leftist movements across the developing world.
The model originated in Indonesia during the mass killings of 1965–66, when Indonesian forces – supported by the United States – killed an estimated 500,000 to one million people accused of communist sympathies. Rather than being an isolated tragedy, Bevins shows that this episode became a template for similar campaigns elsewhere. In Latin America, coordinated repression against leftist groups unfolded through operations such as Operation Condor, involving countries including Brazil, Chile, and Guatemala.
These campaigns often occurred with the support or encouragement of U.S. intelligence agencies and diplomatic channels. Bevins argues that they were not simply spontaneous outbreaks of violence but part of a broader strategy aimed at securing political stability favorable to global capitalism.
The logic of demonstrating power also shaped later military interventions. When the United States invaded Iraq in 2003, the Bush administration justified the war by claiming that Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction and maintained links with al-Qaeda – claims that were later revealed by Nada Bakos, the CIA analyst tasked to establish this as a fact, to be fabricated. But beyond these pretexts, the invasion also served a strategic purpose.
Political scientist Ahsan I. Butt argues that hegemonic powers often seek what he calls “generalized deterrence.” In other words, they attempt to discourage potential challengers by demonstrating their willingness and ability to use overwhelming force. After the attacks of September 11, 2001, the United States faced pressure to reassert its authority within the hierarchical international system. From this perspective, the invasion of Iraq functioned not only as a military campaign but also as a signal to other states about the costs of defying American power.
Some legal scholars, however, argue that contemporary violations of international law differ from earlier ones because powerful states no longer feel compelled to justify their actions within legal frameworks. In previous eras, governments often attempted to frame their interventions as legally defensible – as the Bush government had done before invading Iraq – which at least preserved space for public debate.
Yet this explanation overlooks a deeper problem. International law loses much of its meaning when acts of aggression – especially those later revealed to be based on fabricated claims – result in no meaningful accountability for political leaders. When powerful states face few consequences for violating international norms, the deterrent effect of those norms gradually erodes and becomes obsolete.
The persistence of war
The recurring pattern that emerges from these examples suggests that war cannot be understood solely through the actions of individual leaders or the immediate circumstances of particular conflicts. Instead, it reflects deeper structural forces embedded in the global order: the strategic competition of great powers, the economic dynamics of resource extraction, the historical legacy of imperial hierarchy, and the limited ability of international law to constrain dominant states.
Unless we confront these underlying structures, the cycle of conflict is unlikely to end. As the war correspondent Chris Hedges writes in War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning, “The failure to dissect the cause of war leaves us open for the next installment.”
Understanding those causes does not guarantee peace. But without such understanding, the world will continue to treat each new war as an isolated crisis rather than as the predictable outcome of the system that produces it.
Omair Khan is a peace and conflict studies researcher who documents and analyses hate speech and hate crimes at Karwan-e-Mohabbat.
