2 March, 2026
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19 minutes to read
Even without (or before) Donald Trump’s second presidency, many honest observers, experts, and politicians would admit that the existing world order, often described as a liberal world order, was exhibiting serious cracks and showing worrying signs of erosion. It was further distancing itself from the original ideas of its creators, and, while rolling over by inertia, not-so-liberal actors started to challenge it directly and indirectly by exploiting institutions meant to ensure their transition to liberalism. Whilst Russia began openly and militarily challenging the inviolability of state borders, China leveraged globalization and institutions such as the World Trade Organization (WTO), the World Health Organization (WHO), and others to its advantage. Meanwhile, both asserted their newfound stamina not only to squeeze liberalism out of various parts of the globe but also to present themselves as alternative powers and economic pillars of the revised world order.
Various Islam-based ideological projects, such as the Muslim Brotherhood, the Islamic State, the Shia Crescent, etc., proliferated not only in the Middle East. The conflict with those projects and ideologies led to mass migration, shifting large parts of the population to Western countries. Many carriers of those ideologies ended up in the traditional Judeo-Christian, or Western societies and countries. Instead of assimilation through the American “melting pot” or European “multiculturalism,” they leveraged liberalism for their benefit and caused massive discontent within hosting societies.
While the wealthy world was reaping the benefits of the “knowledge economy,” much of the developing world found itself reliant on a different kind of highly demanded commodity: narcotics — increasingly synthetic and far more potent than traditional marijuana or opium. The opioid crisis created a vast market for these substances, opening the door to synthetic and deadly drugs that flooded Western streets. Yet it was not only illegal substances that crossed borders. The violent rivalries among drug cartels — at times resembling the internecine struggles of militant groups — generated widespread bloodshed, institutional decay, and state fragility in producing and transit countries. The resulting instability fueled large-scale migration, exporting not only people but also the social and security consequences of this violence into Western societies.
Militant Islam and narco-cartels are not the only reasons for the state failures. Die-hard communist regimes, whether in Cuba, Venezuela, or elsewhere, “ensured” further impoverishment and misery of their respective subjects, causing more displacement and migration. Interestingly, while disastrous practices of the self-proclaimed communist or radical Islamist “liberators” were self-evident, Western academia wholeheartedly embraced their ideologies. Illiberalism plagued not only the developing world but also important clusters of Western societies.
While Western elites largely treated the global promotion of democracy and good governance as inevitable, the focus of major international debates shifted toward climate change and green energy. At the same time, illiberal regimes were becoming more militarily assertive, more economically resilient, and major polluters. Persistent manipulation of the liberal international order, coupled with blatant violations of its rules that carried few serious consequences, gradually turned that order into an object of mockery.
The warning signs were there all along. The canaries were singing loudly — but few chose to listen.
A world order, indeed any order, becomes dysfunctional once it is no longer enforced. The warning signs mentioned above were not incidental; they reflected structural weaknesses and contributed to the growing appeal of more conservative agendas within Western societies. For a time, these agendas remained influential yet marginal. The COVID-19 crisis, however, conferred new legitimacy on them and accelerated the rise of nationalist and sovereigntist ideas that had previously existed at the political fringes.
It is therefore hardly surprising that the United States, long regarded as the leader of the free world, allowed itself the latitude to revise the existing international order once that order appeared no longer to serve its national interests effectively. The second presidency of Donald Trump has marked a dramatic inflection point in the evolution of the international system. If his first term from 2017 to 2021 introduced the shock of “America First” into the post-Cold War framework, the second has institutionalized it.
The presumption that the United States must uphold global norms irrespective of reciprocity has been replaced by a principle of conditional engagement.
Trump’s return to office has moved decisively away from the paradigm of ideological multilateralism. Rather than presenting American leadership as a global public good, the administration has redefined leadership as leverage. Alliances are treated not as ends in themselves but as instruments for advancing concrete American interests. Multilateral commitments are assessed through cost-benefit calculations rather than normative loyalty. The presumption that the United States must uphold global norms irrespective of reciprocity has been replaced by a principle of conditional engagement.
This shift does not amount to isolationism. Rather, it reflects a reordering of priorities in Washington: sovereignty over supranationalism, bilateral deals over multilateral frameworks, and strategic advantage over ideological alignment. In doing so, the United States signals to both allies and adversaries that the post-1991 unipolar moment has definitively ended.
While America was either “leading from behind” or leading agendas of climate change, the rest of the world assumed that it was largely retreating from its role as the Global Leader, as it retreated from Iraq and Afghanistan. Such an assumption gave rise to all sorts of new geopolitical constructs, such as “the Global South.” If the “Global South” remains a loose, internally divided grouping, the rise of so-called middle powers is a tangible, undeniable reality.
Across countries such as Canada, Türkiye, India, Brazil, and Saudi Arabia, middle powers are increasingly able to project political, economic, or security influence. None of them, however, possesses all three capabilities at once. As a result, they tend to adjust their alignments according to circumstance, at times balancing between larger powers and at times pursuing independent courses. Yet their relative autonomy allows them to preserve room for maneuver.
Türkiye, for instance, is both a NATO member and a Dialogue Partner in the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (CSO). India participates in the same organization while remaining the world’s largest democracy, distinct from several of its fellow members. Brazil belongs to BRICS but maintains strong economic and security ties with the United States. Washington, still the most powerful global actor, has taken note of this reality. It no longer seeks to manage every region simultaneously, acknowledging the growing agency of these states. The middle powers themselves appear increasingly prepared to assume a more active role in shaping the emerging order. Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney captured this shift when he spoke of the end of the old order and called for strategic autonomy, urging middle powers to embrace greater responsibility in the new one.
The net effect is a Europe more strategically autonomous yet still dependent on American security guarantees. This situation makes NATO stronger, not weaker.
In Europe, Trump’s renewed insistence on burden-sharing has forced NATO members to increase defense spending, altering Alliance dynamics. While critics argue this undermines transatlantic solidarity, proponents contend that it corrects structural imbalances that had long strained the Alliance. The net effect is a Europe more strategically autonomous yet still dependent on American security guarantees. This situation makes NATO stronger, not weaker.
U.S. Secretary Marco Rubio’s recent speech at the Munich Security Conference reiterated the importance of “civilizational unity” between the U.S. and Europe, but underscored that the U.S. expects European states to assume greater responsibilities. While a number of European countries are uneasy with Trump’s tariffs and other policies, it seems like the rumored end of the transatlantic Alliance is very far from reality.
A defining feature of Trump’s second presidency is the elevation of economic nationalism to a doctrine of statecraft. Industrial policy, long taboo in American political orthodoxy, has become central to national security. Strategic sectors – energy, defense manufacturing, rare earth processing, artificial intelligence – are framed as pillars of sovereignty.
Tariff policy has reemerged not merely as trade protectionism but as leverage in negotiations. The administration’s willingness to impose costs on both adversaries and allies signals a readiness to disrupt global supply chains in pursuit of domestic economic revitalization. While this has introduced volatility into international markets and strained relations with the long-standing trade partners, it has also compelled other states to diversify dependencies and reconsider strategic alignments.
The implications are profound. The globalization paradigm of frictionless interdependence gives way to “friend-shoring,” regionalization, and bloc-based economic arrangements. Countries now have to navigate a fragmented trade architecture in which access to the U.S. market is contingent upon political alignment and strategic compliance.
The same goes for energy dominance and resource geopolitics. Energy policy illustrates another contour of the emerging order. Trump’s second presidency has reaffirmed the concept of American “energy dominance.” Expanded domestic production of oil and natural gas strengthens U.S. leverage in global markets and reduces reliance on unstable suppliers.
This approach affects geopolitical calculations across Europe and Asia. For European states seeking alternatives to Russian energy, American liquefied natural gas (LNG) becomes a strategic lifeline. In Asia, energy flows intersect with maritime security and Indo-Pacific competition. Squeezing out China and Russia from Venezuela, curbing Iranian oil exports (and probably soon dominating it), will surely elevate the U.S. role as an Energy Giant and, in parallel, will deny oppressive and illiberal regimes of financial lifelines.
Trump’s second term has redefined alliance management as contractual rather than ideological. NATO, long considered sacrosanct, is subject to constant review regarding cost-sharing and operational commitments. In Asia, partnerships with Japan and South Korea are evaluated through similar lenses. This does not necessarily weaken alliances; rather, it transforms them. Allies are incentivized to invest more in self-defense and regional leadership.
New models of alliances are emerging. Instead of multilateralism, we see an increase of minilateralism – small, flexible coalitions focused on specific objectives.
At the same time, new models of alliances are emerging. Instead of multilateralism, we see an increase of minilateralism – small, flexible coalitions focused on specific objectives. Rather than relying solely on broad multilateral frameworks, the United States is strengthening targeted partnerships to counterbalance China’s rise. Security cooperation among Japan, Australia, and India is gaining prominence, even as broader institutions such as the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) retain diplomatic importance.
These arrangements are pragmatic and issue-driven. They prioritize maritime security, supply-chain resilience, and technology controls. The flexibility of such coalitions reflects a world in which states prefer adaptable alignments over rigid treaty structures.
The modern international system was built on the premise of multilateral inclusivity: the idea that global governance should rest on universal membership, shared rules, and institutional legitimacy. At the center of this architecture stands the United Nations, designed to embody collective security and sovereign equality of states.
Multilateral institutions face renewed scrutiny. The United States remains engaged but demands reform and accountability. Funding commitments are tied to perceived effectiveness and alignment with American priorities.
Multilateral institutions face renewed scrutiny. The United States remains engaged but demands reform and accountability. Funding commitments are tied to perceived effectiveness and alignment with American priorities.
The apparent failing and fading effectiveness of the UN has “graduated” to constant verbal criticism and calls for reform, and it already faces a profound financial crisis. On top of that, the newly minted Board of Peace, which just held its inaugural meeting in Washington, D.C., signals a new trend of chipping away at UN obligations and outsourcing them to a “coalition of the willing.” This shift reflects a broader transformation in global governance. Multilateral inclusivity presupposes that all states – regardless of power – participate in shaping and implementing global norms. However, geopolitical rivalry has increasingly fractured consensus. As major powers compete, the Security Council struggles to produce binding resolutions in major crises. In response, states turn to flexible coalitions that can act more quickly and decisively. Unlike in previous instances of such coalitions, this particular one – the Board of Peace is created not for warfare, but rather for reconstruction, the job previously assigned to the UN.
If successful, the Board of Peace can become a prerequisite for more similar steps, which will render a large part of the UN obsolete, unless the UN will somehow become more effective – a classical situation of “transform and adapt or institutionally die.” The same fate awaits other inclusive organizations, while exclusive ones will thrive.
In an increasingly multipolar world, universal institutions will struggle to produce consensus, while selective coalitions will deliver operational capacity. The new order will retain some global forums, yet their authority depends increasingly on power politics rather than normative consensus.
In an increasingly multipolar world, universal institutions will struggle to produce consensus, while selective coalitions will deliver operational capacity. The new order will retain some global forums, yet their authority depends increasingly on power politics rather than normative consensus. The balance between these models will shape the future of global governance.
Every major technological breakthrough reshapes politics, and this moment is no exception. What distinguishes the current era is the speed and scale at which technology has become inseparable from power. Artificial intelligence, quantum computing, and semiconductor manufacturing are no longer merely commercial sectors; they are treated as strategic assets. Control over advanced chips, data flows, and digital infrastructure increasingly determines geopolitical leverage.
Governments now intervene in areas once considered the domain of markets alone. Export controls, investment bans, industrial subsidies, and technology screening mechanisms are redrawing global innovation networks. Supply chains are no longer designed solely for efficiency; they are constructed with political risk in mind. Firms must assess not only cost and logistics, but also alliance structures, sanctions exposure, and regulatory compatibility. The digital sphere, once imagined as a borderless commons, has become a contested space in which sovereignty is asserted and defended.
This shift is gradually producing distinct technological spheres of influence. The United States and China anchor rival ecosystems built around standards, platforms, capital, and regulatory models. Around them, middle powers experiment with hybrid arrangements, seeking access to both systems while avoiding excessive dependence on either. Some try to hedge; others quietly choose sides. The result is a world in which interoperability becomes more complicated and technological fragmentation more visible. “Digital sovereignty,” once an abstract policy concept, is now operational. States want control over data storage, cloud infrastructure, telecommunications networks, and even algorithmic governance. What used to be questions of innovation policy have become matters of strategic survival.
At the same time, the growing political role of technology entrepreneurs adds another layer to this transformation. In the United States, “tech bros” already wield enormous economic influence and increasingly shape political discourse. Similar dynamics are emerging elsewhere. Entrepreneurs with roots in Eastern Europe, Asia, or Africa are financing political initiatives, reconstruction efforts, and civic projects in their countries of origin. In places such as Belarus or Ukraine, they sometimes challenge entrenched elites whose fortunes were built in older, opaque economic systems. Governments may attempt to slow these shifts by tightening control over digital infrastructure, restricting platforms, or limiting internet access. Yet such measures tend to delay rather than prevent change. Technological momentum is difficult to contain, and over time, it reshapes political hierarchies as surely as it reshapes markets.
Perhaps one of the most persistent features of the emerging world order is ideological. Questions of national sovereignty, border control, and cultural identity have returned to the center of political life, not only in the United States but across Europe and Latin America. Nationalist movements, once treated as temporary reactions, have become durable forces. Their language increasingly shapes mainstream politics and influences how governments define their priorities.
Liberal democracy has not disappeared, but it has changed in tone and emphasis. Elections increasingly revolve around debates over globalization, migration, and inequality. Political leaders are more concerned with securing domestic legitimacy than with earning international praise. Appeals to national interest carry greater weight than appeals to abstract global norms.
It is important to underline that the emerging world order is ideological rather than idealistic. It is driven less by universal aspirations and more by competing visions of sovereignty, power, and national purpose. From this perspective, several trends are already visible.
First, strategic nationalism increasingly guides foreign policy. Governments define their external actions through the lens of domestic renewal. Sovereignty, economic resilience, border control, and cultural cohesion become organizing principles. Foreign commitments are justified primarily in terms of tangible benefits to the nation. Even long-standing alliances are explained less as moral obligations and more as instruments serving national strength and security.
Second, economic statecraft has become central. Trade policy, industrial subsidies, export controls, and control over critical technologies are no longer treated as purely economic matters. They are tools of geopolitical competition. Artificial intelligence, semiconductor production, energy resources, and digital infrastructure are framed as strategic assets. States actively shape markets to secure technological advantages, reduce dependence on rivals, and strengthen domestic industries.
Third, engagement with the world is increasingly selective. Commitments are assessed pragmatically, not as automatic extensions of shared ideals. Participation in international institutions depends on perceived effectiveness and reciprocity. Governments are more willing to withdraw from arrangements they consider disadvantageous and more inclined to renegotiate terms. Cooperation continues, but it is conditional and interest-driven.
Fourth, practical problem-solving increasingly occurs through smaller coalitions rather than through universal institutions. Instead of relying solely on broad multilateral frameworks that include nearly all states, countries form limited groupings focused on specific objectives. These flexible minipolar arrangements allow faster decision-making and clearer alignment of interests. This does not eliminate larger institutions, but it reduces their centrality in managing crises and coordinating action.
Finally, the United States remains the central power in the system, yet it operates differently from the immediate post–Cold War period. Leadership is defined more transactionally. Engagement is shaped by ideological competition rather than universal mission. Strategic rivalry, especially with China, occupies a central place in policymaking. The language of global guardianship gives way to a focus on national advantage. Universalist rhetoric recedes, and power politics becomes more openly acknowledged.
History suggests that world orders rarely disappear overnight; they evolve. The post–Cold War era’s unipolar confidence has yielded to a more contested landscape. Whether this new order proves stable depends on the ability of major powers to manage rivalry without escalation. In this emerging order, power is negotiated rather than assumed, influence is earned rather than guaranteed, and sovereignty reasserts itself as the organizing principle of international life.
While the global hegemon, its principal rival, and a number of middle powers will shape the overall architecture of the new world order, smaller states will operate under very different conditions. They do not possess the economic weight, military reach, or technological capacity to influence systemic rules on their own. Their room for maneuver will depend largely on their geographic position, economic relevance, internal cohesion, and political credibility. In such an environment, survival and development will not be automatic. They will require deliberate and realistic strategic choices.
In the emerging order, what smaller states cannot afford is a form of nationalism that drifts into isolationism. Unlike middle powers, they do not have the luxury of oscillating between competing blocs in pursuit of tactical advantages.
In the emerging order, what smaller states cannot afford is a form of nationalism that drifts into isolationism. Unlike middle powers, they do not have the luxury of oscillating between competing blocs in pursuit of tactical advantages. Middle powers can hedge. They can cooperate with one side in security matters and with another in trade or energy. Smaller countries rarely enjoy that flexibility. Sooner or later, they are compelled to align more clearly. The question is not whether they will belong to a camp, but which one.
Choosing incorrectly does not mean immediate disappearance. Small states will continue to exist formally. They will retain flags, seats in international organizations, and diplomatic missions. However, if they embed themselves in a geopolitical environment dominated by illiberal or revisionist powers, their sovereignty may become largely symbolic. Key decisions on security, economic policy, and even domestic governance could gradually shift beyond their control. In such a setting, independence would survive in name, but not in substance.
Georgia finds itself in precisely such a situation. Geographically located between the European Union and NATO on one side and Russia on the other, it cannot avoid a strategic choice. The country’s cultural heritage, economic orientation, and modern statehood project have been closely linked to Europe and the transatlantic space for more than three decades. From this perspective, alignment with the transatlantic Alliance appears not merely ideological but also practical. It offers the strongest framework for preserving political sovereignty, economic modernization, and institutional development.
At the same time, the path toward integration is no longer what it was in the 1990s or early 2000s. The tools of enlargement and support for democratic transition have changed. External assistance is more conditional and more selective. Western partners are increasingly focused on burden-sharing and domestic resilience within their own societies. This means that for Georgia, internal consolidation matters more than ever. Democratic institutions, rule of law, and accountable governance are not only moral aspirations; they are strategic assets. Without them, claims to belong to the Western camp lose credibility.
The current Georgian leadership’s shortsightedness lies in attempting to behave as though the country enjoys the strategic autonomy of a middle power, while lacking the economic, military, and demographic resources to sustain such a posture.
Georgia’s history offers sobering lessons. For centuries, positioned at the intersection of empires, Georgians developed a strong instinct for survival. Yet there were also moments when misjudgments and misplaced alignments cost the country dearly in terms of freedom and development. Today’s environment requires clarity about scale and capacity. Ukraine, because of its size, population, and military mobilization, may evolve into a middle power. Georgia will remain a small state. Its strategy must therefore reflect that reality. The current Georgian leadership’s shortsightedness lies in attempting to behave as though the country enjoys the strategic autonomy of a middle power, while lacking the economic, military, and demographic resources to sustain such a posture. In a world that is becoming more structured and less forgiving, this approach carries serious risks. As with international institutions facing systemic change, adaptation is not optional. The Georgian state must recognize global trends and adjust its policies accordingly. Otherwise, sovereignty may erode not through conquest, but through strategic miscalculation.
