It’s 2026, and we seem to have drifted back into a world where nations speak less of aspiration and more of advantage. The language of geopolitics has reverted to something older and colder: great powers studying the map as if it were a chessboard, calculating alignments, vulnerabilities, and the imagined preparations of rivals. The comparison to 1914 is not exact—today’s corporations exert influence that would have astonished the royal families of Europe—but the atmosphere carries an unsettling familiarity.
Recent events involving the quagmire in Iran illustrate the shift. Debate centered less on international law, multilateral institutions, or long-term norms than on leverage, deterrence, strategic waterways, and regional power. The vocabulary is revealing. The discussion resembled the language of spheres of influence rather than the postwar language of rules and institutions. And the outcome underscores the point: Iran now understands that its position near the Strait of Hormuz provides a form of leverage over the global economy that is more useful to it than a nuclear weapon. That leverage appears strong enough that sanctions once thought permanent may now be lifted—a scenario unfathomable only months ago. One could argue that better process might have produced a better result; instead, we face a debilitated but strategically stronger Iran.
For much of the postwar era, the United States managed a delicate balance. We maintained relationships with monarchies, military governments, and unsavory regimes while still presenting ourselves—however imperfectly—as champions of democracy, self-determination, and individual liberty. Those ideals were more than rhetoric. They generated soft power, the reservoir of trust that made allies willing to follow our lead even when they disagreed. When America was seen as striving to be good, not simply powerful, its influence extended far beyond its military reach. As that soft power has eroded, diplomacy has become more transactional, narrower, and less persuasive—a shift visible in nearly every major crisis of the past decade.
The map never disappeared. Great powers always pursued interests, secured trade routes, protected allies, and competed for influence. But for a time, principles helped restrain that competition and provide legitimacy to it. The institutions built after the Second World War—the United Nations, NATO, and a broader system of international consultation—were flawed, often frustrating, and frequently inconsistent. Yet they reflected an understanding that power alone could not sustain a stable order.
Today that understanding appears weaker. The result is what is mostly likely a more dangerous world, and certainly a more openly transactional one.
If the world is increasingly shaped by leaders such as Trump, Xi, Putin, Netanyahu, and other leaders inclined to view international politics through the lens of power, the question becomes what principles—if any—will govern international conduct. It cannot simply be whatever the strongest states desire. A world organized exclusively around power eventually becomes a world in which every nation invokes power as its justification.
We are again at a moment when the international order is being rewritten. The challenge is to ensure that the next version is shaped not only by strength, but by purpose; not only by interests, but by legitimacy. Otherwise, we risk returning to a world where maps are drawn by force alone, and where the aspirations that once steadied global politics fade into memory.