A Political Essay from the Margin
Power Without Conscience
By Tom Somah
When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the world lost not only a rival superpower but also a geopolitical counterweight. For nearly half a century, two competing systems had constrained one another. Their rivalry was dangerous, yet it imposed limits. With one side gone, those restraints weakened. What followed was not the peaceful international order many had anticipated but a unipolar world dominated by the United States.
Washington emerged from the Cold War convinced that its political and economic model represented the natural destination of history. Increasingly, it acted on the assumption that no government, economy, or military power should operate beyond the boundaries it defined.
This ambition was presented in the language of democracy, freedom, and a rules-based international order. Yet critics argue that these ideals have often been applied selectively. Governments willing to align with American strategic interests are treated as partners. Those pursuing independent paths frequently find themselves recast as threats to international stability.
The machinery is familiar. Media narratives, policy institutes, financial institutions, military alliances, sanctions, and diplomatic pressure combine to isolate governments that resist Washington's priorities. Economic sanctions have become one of the principal instruments through which that pressure is applied.
The pattern is difficult to ignore. A government that resists American economic preferences is described as corrupt. One that pursues an independent foreign policy is branded authoritarian. A state unwilling to host American military infrastructure finds its democratic credentials placed under intense scrutiny.
For critics of this approach, such narratives often serve a broader purpose. Delegitimisation becomes the first stage of a process that may culminate in sanctions, political destabilisation, military intervention, or externally driven regime change. The human cost is borne not by those making the decisions, but by ordinary people living beneath them.
Gaza illustrates this moral dilemma with painful clarity. Much of the territory has been devastated by war, while civilians have paid the overwhelming price. Children have been pulled from collapsed buildings. Families have disappeared beneath the rubble. Entire generations have been extinguished in single air strikes, their lives reduced to statistics in a conflict that continues to divide governments far from the battlefield.
Throughout the conflict, the United States has remained Israel's principal military backer, supplying weapons, ammunition, and diplomatic support. It has repeatedly used its veto in the United Nations Security Council to block ceasefire resolutions. When proceedings concerning alleged genocide were brought before the International Court of Justice, Washington rejected the accusations and defended Israel's right to self-defence. To its critics, this reflects a willingness to apply international law selectively when close allies are involved.
The same criticism extends to earlier interventions. The invasion of Iraq, justified by claims about weapons of mass destruction that were never found, left hundreds of thousands dead and a society profoundly damaged. Libya's NATO intervention, initially presented as a humanitarian mission, resulted in state collapse, prolonged instability, and widespread lawlessness. In Yemen, American support for the Saudi-led coalition has been associated with one of the world's gravest humanitarian crises, marked by famine, disease, and immense civilian suffering.
South America presents another chapter in this history. Across successive decades, Washington supported coups, covert operations, and authoritarian governments where elected leaders were judged hostile to American strategic or economic interests. Chile, Guatemala, Brazil, Nicaragua, and more recently Venezuela each reflect different moments in a longer pattern of intervention. While circumstances differed from country to country, critics argue that the underlying objective remained consistent: preventing governments from moving beyond Washington's sphere of influence.
Iran has faced a different form of pressure. For more than four decades, the United States has maintained an extensive sanctions regime designed to isolate the country economically and financially. Officially, these measures seek to influence the behaviour of the Iranian government. In practice, many of the consequences have been borne by ordinary citizens through inflation, currency instability, shortages, and declining living standards. Although humanitarian exemptions exist in law, restrictions on banking and international finance have often complicated access to medicine, medical equipment, and essential imports.
Despite this, Iran continues to be portrayed by Washington and many of its allies as a major threat to international security. Yet history raises an uncomfortable question. Which state has actually used atomic weapons against civilian populations? The answer is not Iran but the United States, whose attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki remain the only wartime use of nuclear weapons in history.
Economic coercion has extended beyond sanctions alone. Russian central bank reserves worth hundreds of billions of dollars were frozen following the invasion of Ukraine. Venezuela has been unable to regain control of significant gold reserves held by the Bank of England. Afghanistan's central bank assets were frozen after the Taliban returned to power, even as millions of Afghans faced deepening humanitarian hardship. To supporters, these measures uphold international law and accountability. To critics, they demonstrate how financial power has become another instrument through which geopolitical influence is exercised.
Yet history rarely remains frozen. The unipolar moment that followed the Cold War is steadily giving way to a more contested international order. China's economic rise, the expansion of BRICS, and the growing willingness of many countries across Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East to pursue independent partnerships all point towards a more multipolar world.
Whether this transition produces greater justice remains uncertain. What is already clear is that the assumption of uncontested American primacy is no longer accepted as readily as it once was.
Meanwhile, the human consequences continue to accumulate. Civilians in Gaza remain trapped in war. Iranian families continue to endure the burdens of economic sanctions. Frozen national assets remain beyond the reach of populations that played no part in the political disputes that placed them there.
History repeatedly shows that great powers become most dangerous when they cease to question themselves. An empire that no longer feels compelled to justify its actions often mistakes power for legitimacy.
That is the danger confronting the international order today.