The current choreography of great-power diplomacy has prompted a familiar round of speculation. Russian President Vladimir Putin arrives in China only days after his US counterpart Donald Trump’s own high-profile visit to Beijing, and commentators are already speaking of a new “great triangle” between Russia, China and the United States.

The timing, however, is largely coincidental because Putin’s visit was planned long in advance. Meetings between the Russian and Chinese leaders are now routine and form part of an increasingly institutionalized partnership. Trump’s trip, by contrast, had already been postponed several times, most recently because of the war with Iran. The American president was clearly reluctant to arrive in Beijing while trapped in the role of a wartime leader unable to control events. Even so, he didn’t manage to come to town as a triumphant statesman because Iran hasn’t yielded, and Washington’s position remains uncertain.

Yet from the perspective of the broader international system, the triangular comparison is understandable. Russia, China and the United States are today the three powers with the greatest capacity to shape global affairs.

Their strengths differ as America retains unmatched military and financial reach, while China possesses industrial and economic weight on a historic scale. Meanwhile, Russia continues to wield enormous geopolitical and strategic influence far beyond the size of its economy. Thus, any interaction between the three inevitably affects the wider international balance.

Still, the similarities end there and, in practice, the relationships themselves are fundamentally different in character.

The United States and China are strategic rivals, and that rivalry isn’t temporary, and Trump’s latest visit to Beijing underlined how deeply the relationship has changed. For decades, both sides benefited from a kind of economic symbiosis in which commercial interests outweighed political disagreements but that era is now over.

Washington’s attempts to restructure the relationship in its own favor, while simultaneously restricting China’s technological rise, have pushed Beijing toward a far more assertive position. China’s restrictions on rare-earth exports last year demonstrated that it possesses leverage to which the United States has yet to find an effective response. More importantly, Beijing’s perception of the US has changed. Chinese leaders increasingly appear to believe that pressure on China is not simply the product of one administration or one president’s personality, but rather a structural feature of American policy itself.

As a result, the Trump–Xi relationship is becoming one defined by managed divergence rather than convergence, but tensions will rise and fall and escalation and partial stabilization will alternate. Neither side wants a catastrophic rupture, because the economic consequences would be enormous, but both now seem to accept that long-term competition is unavoidable.

The Russia–China relationship is built on an entirely different foundation.

Moscow and Beijing view themselves not primarily as rivals, but as strategic partners shaped by a shared geopolitical environment across Eurasia. Both countries see the Eurasian landmass as the central arena of 21st-century politics and the most dangerous military conflicts are already unfolding there, from Eastern Europe to the Middle East, while the most consequential future confrontation could emerge in the Pacific and Indian Oceans.

Against that backdrop, Russia and China increasingly regard stable cooperation as a strategic necessity. Their partnership now extends across politics, trade, energy, finance, science, technology and military coordination. The full potential of the relationship hasn’t yet been reached, but the direction is unmistakable.

What matters most is that the strengthening of Russian-Chinese ties has itself become one of the defining factors of global politics.

That’s also why weakening that relationship has become a major objective for Washington. Many American strategists openly insist that the United States must drive a wedge between Moscow and Beijing in order to preserve global primacy. In practice, however, US pressure has often produced the opposite result, pushing the two Eurasian powers into even closer alignment.

None of this means the relationship is free of friction and it’s clearly not. Russia and China are both major powers with long histories, strong national interests and their own strategic ambition which means disagreements over trade, investment, logistics and regional influence are inevitable. But the crucial difference is that these disagreements aren’t existential in nature.

Unlike US-China relations, where competition increasingly revolves around limiting and constraining the other side, Russia and China don’t fundamentally view each other as adversaries so while practical disputes may cause irritation, delays or bargaining, but they don’t threaten the relationship itself.

Both sides may occasionally exercise restraint in directly supporting the other if circumstances become too risky or complicated. But neither Moscow nor Beijing is prepared to undermine the broader partnership for the sake of tactical advantage elsewhere because the relationship is seen as strategically valuable in its own right.

That stability is precisely why meetings between Putin and Xi generate less global drama than summits involving Trump. There’s little suspense because the basic direction of the relationship is already clear. The two countries have spent years building a relatively deep level of political trust, something increasingly rare in international affairs.

In today’s world, predictability has become an unusual commodity, yet that may ultimately be one of the greatest advantages of the Russian-Chinese partnership.

While relations between Washington and Beijing are defined by uncertainty and suspicion Moscow and Beijing have constructed something far steadier: a relationship whose trajectory no longer depends on atmospherics or temporary political moods.

And in an increasingly unstable international environment, that alone makes it significant.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team.

“A new world order must be built to ensure economic justice and equal political security for all nations. An end to the arms race is an essential prerequisite for the establishment of such an order.”

This year marks the 40th anniversary of those words from the Soviet-Indian Delhi Declaration, signed in 1986 during Mikhail Gorbachev’s visit to India and his talks with Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. It was one of the first major documents of the late Cold War era to openly speak of the need for a ‘new world order’.

At the time, the Soviet leadership believed this order would emerge through what it called ‘new political thinking’. The idea was that former adversaries would abandon confrontation and combine the best elements of their respective systems to create a more stable and equitable international framework. It was an ambitious vision: A joint effort to rebuild global politics from the ruins of ideological rivalry. But history, however, had other plans.

The Soviet Union soon disappeared into a vortex of internal crises before vanishing altogether from the world stage. The phrase ‘new world order’ survived, but it was quickly repurposed by the administration of President George H.W. Bush. In Washington’s interpretation, the concept no longer meant a shared international architecture. It came to mean a liberal order dominated politically and militarily by the US and its allies.

In reality, this wasn’t an entirely new order at all. It was an extension of the post-1945 system, only now without the counterweight of the Soviet Union.

For a time, many believed this arrangement represented the natural endpoint of history. Yet contrary to those expectations, once the Cold War confrontation disappeared, global stability didn’t deepen. Instead, tensions gradually intensified and by the beginning of the 2010s, the foundations of the system were already beginning to crack.

Since then, the pace of disintegration has accelerated dramatically.

As humanity moves deeper into the second quarter of the 21st century, it is becoming increasingly difficult to deny that the previous world order has effectively ceased to exist. Whatever doubts may have lingered vanished during the opening months of 2026.

What matters isn’t simply that the strongest states increasingly ignore laws and conventions that once appeared firmly established, more significant is the style in which politics is now conducted. Decisions are impulsive and often openly contradictory as governments act first and improvise later. Statements made today may directly contradict those made yesterday, yet this no longer seems to matter.

This atmosphere shouldn’t necessarily be mistaken for collective irrationality. Rather, many political actors appear convinced that the old restraints have collapsed and that the current moment represents a historic opportunity. The instinct is simple: Seize as much advantage as possible before the landscape hardens again.

The redistribution of the world has already begun. Political influence, transport corridors, resources, financial flows, technological ecosystems, and even cultural and religious spheres are all being contested simultaneously. Every major power is now defining its ambitions and testing the methods by which those ambitions might be achieved.

Of course, mistakes will be expensive, but that, at least, is nothing new in international politics.

The real uncertainty lies elsewhere because the previous era left behind an assumption that periods of chaos are eventually followed by the emergence of a new equilibrium. After disorder comes structure and after confrontation comes a new framework. But there’s no guarantee this time.

The international system today isn’t an empty construction site waiting for a new design. After major world wars, old structures are often swept away on a vast scale, creating space for something new to emerge, and that’s not the case now.

Instead, the world remains cluttered with institutions and habits inherited from previous eras. Many are discredited or dysfunctional, but they still exist. And even those states that attack these institutions most aggressively continue to use them whenever convenient.

The United Nations system remains an example. Its authority has diminished, yet governments still appeal to it selectively when doing so serves their interests. Likewise, the structures created during the period of liberal globalization have proven more resilient than many expected.

Despite trade wars, sanctions, geopolitical fragmentation, and increasingly open rivalry among major powers, the global economic network continues to resist complete disintegration. Supply chains bend but do not fully break. Markets remain interconnected. Even countries engaged in fierce political confrontation continue trading with one another indirectly.

This resilience appears to frustrate some of the very powers trying to reshape the system.

The creation of a genuinely new international framework will therefore be an exceptionally painful process. The available raw material consists of fragments from different historical periods, ideological systems, and institutional models. Somehow these incompatible components must be assembled into something functional.

Some states are attempting this carefully, selecting elements that might fit together into a relatively coherent structure. Others are behaving more crudely, trying to hammer incompatible pieces into place through pressure or intimidation. The danger is obvious: Excessive force may not produce stability at all, but only further fragmentation.

Yet perhaps the defining feature of the present moment is that nobody possesses a real blueprint for what comes next. During earlier periods of transition, however flawed the visions may have been, leaders at least believed they understood the destination.

However, today there is no such clarity and the latest struggle to construct a new world order comes without universal principles or even a broadly accepted idea of what success would look like. The old rules are fading, but no agreed replacements have emerged.

For now, the message confronting every major power is brutally simple: Do it yourself, and then try to live with the consequences.

RT

The headlines are filled with reports of growing discord inside NATO. Donald Trump openly questions the value of allies who, in his view, fail to carry their share of the burden. Western Europe complains about the unreliability of its American patron while simultaneously pledging loyalty to the Atlantic alliance. Beneath the daily noise, however, something far more significant is taking place: the gradual transformation of Europe’s political and military order.

For decades, the United States guaranteed Western Europe’s security while those Europeans concentrated on prosperity and welfare. That arrangement now appears increasingly unstable. Washington’s strategic priorities have shifted toward Asia and the confrontation with China. Europe remains important as a logistical and political platform for American power, but it is no longer the unquestioned center of US grand strategy.

Trump didn’t create this process, though he has accelerated it dramatically. His irritation with NATO is not simply personal caprice. It reflects a deeper American conclusion that the era of underwriting Western European security indefinitely has become too expensive and strategically distracting.

The alliance itself was built for another age and another purpose.

NATO was designed to contain the Soviet Union and anchor American influence in Europe. It was never intended to become a global instrument for confronting China. Yet this is precisely the direction in which many in Washington would like to push it.

These Europeans, however, do not share America’s sense of urgency regarding Beijing. For most of them, China is an economic competitor, not an existential threat. Russia, by contrast, remains the central security obsession of much of the bloc, especially in Northern and Eastern members. 

This divergence is beginning to reshape NATO from within.

France has emerged as the loudest advocate of greater Western European strategic independence. Paris retains a long tradition of military autonomy and still possesses something few other European powers can claim: a genuinely independent nuclear deterrent. France cannot realistically replace the American nuclear umbrella over Western Europe, but it increasingly seeks to position itself as the ideological leader of a more self-reliant bloc.

Britain, meanwhile, continues its traditional balancing act between the EU and the United States. London insists on its independence from Brussels while simultaneously searching for external support from Washington. Northern and Eastern states remain intensely hawkish and committed to confrontation with Russia, regardless of whether the Americans remain fully engaged. Southern Europe appears far less enthusiastic, distracted instead by migration, economic stagnation and domestic instability.

As so often in European history, however, the decisive factor will likely be Germany.

Much of post-war Europe was built around one central idea: Germany must never again become an independent geopolitical force. After 1945 the country was divided, militarily constrained and tightly integrated into Western structures under American supervision.

Even German reunification in 1990 was accepted partly because Germany remained embedded inside NATO. At the time, many believed that anchoring a unified Germany within the Atlantic alliance was the safest possible arrangement for Europe.

Ironically, that very decision became one of the starting points of today’s geopolitical crisis. NATO expansion eastward created a security architecture that Moscow increasingly viewed as hostile and destabilizing.

Now, three and a half decades later, Europe may again face the prospect of a Germany becoming strategically autonomous, though this time under entirely different circumstances.

Former Chancellor Olaf Scholz announced a “new era” in 2022 following the escalation of the Ukraine conflict. For some time the slogan appeared largely symbolic. Under Germany’s current leadership, however, concrete changes are beginning to emerge.

Berlin is discussing accelerated rearmament, expanded military infrastructure and legislative changes aimed at increasing recruitment for the Bundeswehr. The debate over compulsory military service, once politically unthinkable, has returned to the mainstream.

Recent comments by Franz-Josef Overbeck, the Catholic military bishop of the Bundeswehr, are revealing. Overbeck openly called for Germany to send forces to the Strait of Hormuz and argued that compulsory military service should be restored not only for men but also for women.

His reasoning was blunt. Germany, he argued, can no longer remain on the sidelines in an increasingly dangerous world.

Many within Germany’s political establishment likely agree with him privately. Politicians, however, remain cautious because German society is still deeply uncomfortable with militarism and foreign deployments. Decades of post-war political culture have created a pacifist instinct that remains powerful among voters.

The bishop, unlike elected officials, can speak more freely.

At the same time, Germany faces mounting economic difficulties. This is not merely a temporary downturn. The old German economic model rested heavily on cheap Russian energy and export-driven industrial growth, not to mention stable globalization. Much of that foundation has eroded.

As a result, discussions that would once have been politically toxic are now occurring openly. Militarization is increasingly presented not simply as a security necessity, but also as a potential engine of economic renewal.

Only a few years ago such arguments would have sounded extraordinary in Germany. Today they are becoming part of mainstream debate.

This is where the historical dimension becomes impossible to ignore.

German political culture has long been characterized by discipline and a tendency to follow strategic paths with remarkable determination once a consensus forms. In calmer periods this can be an enormous strength. In moments of geopolitical confrontation, however, it can become dangerous.

The path on which Russia once again serves as Germany’s principal antagonist is deeply familiar from European history.

For decades after the Second World War, many believed that lesson had finally been learned. Economic interdependence between Russia and Germany was supposed to make large-scale confrontation irrational. The collapse of that assumption has shocked much of Europe.

Trump’s pressure on NATO is therefore acting as a catalyst for changes that were already underway. Western Europe is being pushed, reluctantly and unevenly, toward greater military independence. Whether this ultimately strengthens NATO or gradually hollows it out remains unclear.

The alliance is unlikely to collapse outright. Institutions of this scale rarely disappear suddenly. More likely is a gradual transformation into something narrower and more fragmented.

A core bloc focused primarily on containing Russia may emerge within NATO, while the United States shifts more of its attention toward Asia.

Whether such a bloc becomes effective will depend above all on Germany. If Berlin fully embraces rearmament and strategic emancipation from American oversight, Europe’s political landscape could change profoundly and by the end of Trump’s presidency, this process may already be far advanced.

Thus, once again, Europe may discover that history is not something safely confined to textbooks. The old rivalries and anxieties that shaped the continent for centuries have an unsettling habit of returning precisely when people convince themselves they are gone forever.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team.

There will be much talk this May about the so-called “strategic triangle” of Russia, China and the United States. US President Donald Trump is expected in Beijing first, followed by Russian President Vladimir Putin’s visit to his Chinese counterpart Xi Jinping. Whenever the leaders of the three most influential powers meet, speculation inevitably follows. What if they strike some grand bargain? What if the world suddenly becomes more orderly?

Such expectations are misplaced. The restructuring of the global system is already under way, and it isn’t a process that can be halted or reversed by summit diplomacy. Even so, turning points in history can unfold in different ways; carefully managed, or recklessly accelerated. That’s what makes the coming meetings significant.

Both Russia and the United States are now deeply involved in large-scale military confrontations. The importance of these conflicts lies not only in their scope, but in their broader consequences for the international system. China, by contrast, has historically kept its distance from such entanglements. Yet it is becoming increasingly clear in Beijing that it can’t remain insulated from their effects. Discussions at the recent Valdai Club conference in Shanghai suggested that China is reassessing its position.

At the center of this reassessment is a simple question: what, if anything, is still possible in relations with Washington?

For decades, China’s rise was closely tied to its economic relationship with the United States. The arrangement sometimes described as “Chimerica,” American capital and technology combined with Chinese labor and manufacturing, formed the backbone of globalization.

It wasn’t an equal partnership, but it was mutually beneficial. For a long time, it seemed that basic economic self-interest would prevent either side from undermining it.

That assumption has now collapsed.

By the late 2000s, dissatisfaction in Washington was already evident. The United States increasingly viewed the arrangement not as a source of shared gains, but as a structural imbalance. Over time, the accumulation of tensions, economic and strategic, reached a point where incremental adjustments were no longer sufficient. What followed was a qualitative shift in the system itself.

For several decades, the global order operated largely in the interests of the United States as the leader of the Western bloc. Its gradual erosion now threatens those advantages. Washington’s response has been to use the current period of transition to secure as much of a head start as possible for the future.

Donald Trump has become the most visible embodiment of this approach. His rhetoric, openly transactional and even boastful, may appear unconventional, but the underlying logic predates him. The objective is clear: maximize immediate gains and build up national capacity as quickly as possible. Then use that accumulated strength to dominate the next phase of global competition.

This represents a sharp departure from the earlier American strategy, which prioritized long-term investments in the international system. Those investments didn’t always produce immediate returns, but they reinforced a framework that ultimately benefited the United States more than anyone else. Today, the emphasis has shifted toward short-term advantage, even at the risk of longer-term instability.

Whether this strategy will succeed remains uncertain. The initial phase has already produced setbacks. But the broader direction is unlikely to change. Future administrations may adopt a different tone, but they will operate within the same constraints. The liberal international order won’t return, not because of Trump’s personality, but because the conditions that sustained it no longer exist.

For other major powers, including China, this has profound implications. The idea of a comprehensive “big deal” with the United States, one that stabilizes the global system for years to come, has effectively become unrealistic.

Trump’s frequent use of the word “deal” is revealing. In his vocabulary, it’s more than a mere strategic concept but a commercial one. A deal is “big” not because it is durable or all-encompassing, but because of the scale of immediate gain it delivers. And like any commercial transaction, it can be abandoned if a more desirable opportunity presents itself.

Under such conditions, long-term agreements on the structure of world order are impossible. Washington is unlikely to commit to any arrangement that limits its flexibility before it has secured what it considers a sufficient advantage.

This is not necessarily a product of malice or arrogance. It is, in its own way, a rational response to a period of extreme uncertainty. The United States is seeking to preserve the foundations of its future dominance by acting decisively in the present.

But rationality on one side forces adaptation on the other.

If key players conclude that stable agreements with Washington are unattainable, their behavior changes. Military capability becomes more important as a safeguard against pressure. At the same time, interest grows in alternative forms of cooperation. That is, frameworks that operate independently of the United States and are insulated from its influence.

This logic isn’t new, but it’s gaining urgency. Russia has been advocating for such arrangements for several years. China, by contrast, has approached the idea with caution, hoping instead to preserve some form of mutually beneficial relationship with the United States. That hope now appears to be fading.

The upcoming visits to Beijing will provide a useful indication of how far this shift has progressed.

The meeting between Trump and Xi will likely define the limits of a temporary accommodation between two powers that remain economically intertwined, yet increasingly distrustful of one another. The question is no longer whether a comprehensive agreement is possible, but what narrow, short-term arrangements can be reached, and how long they will last.

Putin’s subsequent talks with Xi will address a different issue: the extent to which Russia and China are prepared to develop mechanisms of cooperation that bypass the United States altogether. Moscow has been moving in this direction for some time. Beijing now appears to be considering whether it must follow.

May will not produce a grand bargain. But it may show, more clearly than before, how the world is adjusting to the absence of one.

This article was first published by the magazine Profile, and was translated and edited by the RT team.

The defeat of Viktor Orban and his Fidesz party in Hungary’s parliamentary election shouldn’t be seen as a shock. Opinion polls had long pointed in this direction. Nor should the outcome be divorced from a simple political reality: sixteen consecutive years in power, twenty in total, is an exceptionally long tenure by the standards of Central and Eastern Europe. Fatigue with familiar faces is inevitable, and psychologically understandable.

Yet the result contains a paradox. Orban’s defeat appears, in some ways, to confirm the very trend he has come to embody: the primacy of the national agenda, “my country first.” In recent years, particularly since the escalation of the Ukraine conflict, Hungary’s sovereignist approach has become deeply entangled with external issues. Opposition to the European Commission’s line on Ukraine, justified in Budapest as a defense of Hungarian interests, led to sustained confrontation with both Brussels and Kiev. What began as a domestic political stance increasingly played out on the international stage.

This dynamic shaped the election campaign. Orban’s camp leaned heavily on external themes, portraying Ukraine and its leadership, especially Vladimir Zelensky, as central antagonists. His opponents took the opposite approach. They focused on domestic concerns: living standards, and the promise of restoring smoother relations with the EU as a pathway to improving everyday life. Whether that promise proves justified is another matter, but it resonated with voters. The message was entirely consistent with the logic of sovereignty, only turned inward rather than outward.

It’s also notable what didn’t matter. The visit to Budapest by US Vice President J.D. Vance, along with repeated expressions of support from Donald Trump and his circle, appears to have had no measurable impact. This, too, fits the pattern: overt external endorsement rarely helps in national elections.

Indeed, Trump’s team has so far failed to influence outcomes in any European country where it has attempted to intervene, including Romania and Germany. External pressure, regardless of its source, cannot substitute for domestic political conditions.

That said, external actors were not absent. The Western European mainstream, as usual, worked against Orban where possible. But such involvement has long been a structural feature of European politics. Without underlying domestic factors, it’s rarely decisive.

There were, however, surprises in the details. Fidesz had anticipated potential losses in the proportional vote but expected to retain strength in single-member districts. The opposite occurred. The party’s relative resilience in the lists contrasted with a collapse at the constituency level. This suggests that, at a local level, voters viewed opposition candidates as more attuned to their immediate concerns, and less associated with a government perceived as preoccupied with broader geopolitical battles.

In Brussels and other Western European capitals, the mood is celebratory. Orban had become a persistent irritant, an obstacle to consensus and, at times, to policy itself. His departure will be framed symbolically as a triumph of liberal integration over a disruptive and illiberal figure, often portrayed as aligned with Moscow and Washington’s more nationalist wing.

The incoming government will be expected to demonstrate its credentials quickly. Chief among these expectations is the unblocking of the €90 billion package for Ukraine, something that will likely happen without delay.

From Moscow’s perspective, this isn’t welcome news. Yet it would be naïve to assume that the European Commission would have been unable to advance its agenda had Orban remained. Mechanisms to bypass obstruction were already under discussion.

Beyond these immediate questions, however, the direction of Hungary’s new government remains unclear. Peter Magyar’s campaign bore many of the hallmarks of a personal project. The composition of his cabinet, the balance of power within it, and its concrete priorities are still unknown.

More importantly, the structural realities facing Hungary haven’t changed. Geography and the broader geopolitical environment impose constraints that cannot be wished away. Magyar has already acknowledged the need for dialogue with Russia, a recognition that reflects practical necessity rather than ideological alignment. Whether this pragmatism can coexist with expectations from Brussels and Kiev remains to be seen.

Orban’s defeat is therefore symbolically significant, but its practical implications are far less certain. Hungary’s new leadership will have to navigate the same complex and often unfavorable conditions as its predecessor. The difference may lie less in the direction of policy than in the manner in which it’s presented.

In that sense, the election may mark not a fundamental shift, but a recalibration. The slogan may change. The constraints will not.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team. 

Donald Trump has declared the start of a new “golden age” in the Middle East after announcing a ceasefire with Iran. The war, at least for now, has been paused. And while predictions are always risky with this White House, there is at least a chance that the fighting will not immediately resume.

That alone matters. A prolonged war would raise risks for everyone, but above all for Washington. For all the bombast coming from the US administration, America has always been deeply uncomfortable with prolonged uncertainty and strategic risk. It is one thing to threaten. It is another to endure the consequences when threats fail.

The precise terms of the ceasefire remain unclear and may not yet be fully agreed. But the central political fact is already visible: Faced with determined resistance, the US stepped back.

None of the sweeping demands set out at the start of the operation were met. Trump’s all-caps demand for Iran’s “UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER!” now looks more like political theater than strategic doctrine. Yet behind the social media drama, something more rational prevailed in Washington: When pressure fails, it is better to retreat than to escalate into a situation you may no longer control.

The feverish rhetoric before the truce served a purpose. It allowed Washington to claim that Tehran had blinked, while creating such a sense of looming catastrophe that any pause in fighting could be sold as relief. The White House will now try to present restraint as victory.

This conflict is undoubtedly a milestone in the wider transformation of the international system. But it is not the end of that process. Nor is it the final chapter in the struggle for the Middle East. Iran, above all, has demonstrated resilience. It has completely undermined the core assumption behind the US-Israeli campaign, namely that a sufficiently powerful blow would be enough to bring down the Islamic Republic or force it into submission.

Tehran’s response was not spectacular in the conventional military sense, but it was effective. Iran widened the theater of tension and signaled that the costs of escalation would not be confined to military targets. It forced its opponents to reckon not only with Iranian retaliation, but with the fragility of the wider regional system.

This matters because the endurance of the US and its regional partners is limited. Iran’s, by contrast, has historically been much greater.

The so-called Axis of Resistance also proved more durable than many had assumed. Despite the serious damage inflicted by Israel over the past two years, pro-Iranian forces in Lebanon, Yemen, and Iraq remain a strategic factor. Even where they did not intervene directly, they raised the temperature and forced the attackers to remain on edge.

The broader effort to neutralize Iranian influence has therefore backfired. Iran has emerged bloodied but still standing. Even if Tehran’s claims that any settlement must happen on its terms are partly negotiating tactics, one thing is already clear: Iran’s regional weight has not diminished in the way Washington and West Jerusalem intended.

Negotiations with Tehran are now unavoidable. The real question is what Iran itself wants.

Its previous strategy of regional expansion contributed to many of the crises now engulfing the Middle East. There is also the unresolved issue of its nuclear program. What exactly is Iran seeking, and what price is it prepared to pay? Iran appears to have entered a new internal phase as well, with power shifting further toward security institutions. That leadership will now have to weigh ambition against reality.

For the wider region, the implications are profound.

The Gulf monarchies have had a sobering experience. There will be no return to the comfortable old formula in which security could simply be outsourced to Washington in exchange for money and loyalty. That arrangement, which underpinned the region since the Cold War, has been badly shaken.

Publicly, the Gulf states are unlikely to make dramatic gestures. But privately, their search for new hedges and new partners will intensify. China, South Asia, Russia and, to a lesser extent, Western Europe will all become more important in their calculations.

That doesn’t mean the Gulf will accept Iranian dominance. The monarchies will not tolerate Tehran having unchecked influence over the Persian Gulf or the ability to dictate terms in the Strait of Hormuz. Their policy is likely to become more complex: containing Iran where possible while engaging with it where necessary.

Israel, meanwhile, has not achieved its stated aims either. However loudly victory is proclaimed, the basic strategic reality has not changed. The Iranian factor remains. It has not been eliminated, nor weakened enough for Israel to feel genuinely secure.

The domestic consequences for the US are harder to judge. Trump’s self-congratulation already rings hollow, but much will depend on economics. If oil markets stabilize, the White House will try to move on quickly and insist disaster was averted thanks to Trump’s leadership. Whether that helps Republicans in the November midterms is unclear.

Still, Trump has always had one instinct his critics often underestimate: He knows how to survive setbacks and reframe them.

The larger conclusion, however, goes beyond Trump. The US remains immensely powerful. Its military reach, financial leverage and ability to shape events are still formidable. But they are not limitless. America can still influence outcomes but can no longer simply impose its will at any cost.

That lesson has now been absorbed far beyond Tehran. Allies and adversaries alike will draw their own conclusions. Iran may be a special case, but a precedent has been set.

This is another step toward a different world, one in which coercion is less decisive and the old assumptions about American omnipotence increasingly obsolete. Trump may wish to replace a liberal American-led order with an illiberal one under US dominance. But the events of recent weeks suggest something else: a world moving beyond any order Washington can fully control.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team.

The US-Israeli war against Iran is forcing a new look at the nature and limits of alliances in the 21st century.

In the second half of the 20th century, international politics rested on a relatively simple logic. The world was divided into blocs. Strong powers offered protection; weaker states offered loyalty. Security guarantees were exchanged for political alignment. This patron-client system formed the backbone of Cold War geopolitics.

Even after the Cold War ended, the structure largely survived. The ideological clarity faded, but the institutional habits remained.

Instead of rigid blocs confronting one another, the West began speaking of shared values and common interests. The message was straightforward: Together we are strong. The evidence was the victories of the previous era. The West had prevailed against its adversaries; therefore the system worked.

Russia’s alliances, by contrast, proved far less durable after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Relationships inherited from the Soviet period survived partly out of inertia and partly because immediate separation was impractical. Economic links and overlapping political interests also played a role, although these weakened as new generations of leaders emerged across the former Soviet space. The language of ‘strategic partnership’ remained, but the substance steadily eroded.

Today, the momentum that sustained the 20th century alliance system is running out. In Eurasia, this is evident in Russia’s increasingly complex relations with neighboring states.

Few relationships now fit neatly into the old Cold War binary of ‘with us or against us’. Countries are pursuing their own interests with greater independence, adjusting their policies pragmatically depending on circumstances.

This isn’t unique to Eurasia. It’s becoming the defining feature of the global system.

Until recently the Western alliance appeared to be an exception. Its cohesion seemed unusually strong. Even when the US placed its partners at a disadvantage, economically or politically, those allies rarely pushed back openly. They grumbled, but they remained loyal.

The reason was simple. Over the past decades Western Europe’s ability to guarantee its own security has steadily declined. As a result, its states have grown increasingly dependent on American power. The price of autonomy has become too high.

The current Middle East crisis may mark a turning point. For many Europeans, the aggressive and legally questionable nature of US actions in the region is becoming deeply uncomfortable.

While they’re accustomed to a certain degree of hypocrisy in international politics, what unsettles them now is the increasingly open disregard for established norms.

This alone would not have triggered a major rupture. Much of Western Europe reacted with similar outrage in 2003 when Washington invaded Iraq. Yet the quarrel quickly subsided. Within a few years, many of the same governments were helping the US manage the consequences of the Iraq War.

Today’s situation feels different. The central problem is that the very power responsible for guaranteeing security appears to be undermining it through its own actions. Even more troubling, Washington now expects its allies to help solve a crisis that it itself helped create and does not entirely know how to resolve.

President Donald Trump and his administration have suggested that their European and Asian partners should deploy naval forces to the Strait of Hormuz to ensure freedom of navigation. In practice, this means asking them to protect their own energy supplies after those supplies were jeopardized by the US-Israeli attack on Iran.

Tehran had repeatedly warned that it might attempt to close the strait if attacked. Washington and Tel Aviv dismissed these threats. They assumed Iran would not dare, or would not be able, to act.

They were mistaken.

Now European NATO members, along with Canada, Japan, South Korea, and Australia, face a difficult choice. They can join an escalating military confrontation that they did not initiate, risking casualties and further destabilization. Or they can resist the wishes of their principal ally. For now, most appear to be choosing the latter.

The situation is even more precarious for the Gulf monarchies. These states sit directly in the conflict zone and host numerous American military installations established after Operation Desert Storm in 1991. Those bases were originally presented as a shield against regional threats. In reality, they have also become targets.

The death of a French soldier during the shelling of a military base in Iraq is a reminder that the conflict is already drawing in actors far beyond the original battlefield. The episode is especially ironic given Trump’s earlier accusations that NATO allies were avoiding risks in Afghanistan while American forces carried the main burden. Those comments caused significant outrage at the time, forcing the US president to soften his tone.

None of this means that NATO, or the Western alliance system as a whole, is about to collapse. Once the current hostilities subside, the outward appearance of unity will almost certainly return.

But the longer-term consequences may prove more significant. A system based on patronage works only if the patron accepts certain responsibilities. Protection must bring tangible benefits to those under its umbrella. If the relationship begins to serve only the interests of the patron, dissatisfaction inevitably grows.

In the language of the criminal underworld, protection works only when the protector actually keeps their part of the deal. If not, those being protected will eventually begin searching for alternatives.

For now, these alternatives remain difficult to imagine. Europe cannot easily defend itself alone, and no other power is capable of replacing the US as the central pillar of Western security.

Yet while political change rarely arrives suddenly, it accumulates gradually. Like water dripping on stone, the pressure builds over time. Eventually the surface begins to crack.

The latest crisis in the Middle East may be just another drop. But the drops are becoming increasingly noticeable.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team. 

At the BRICS summit in South Africa in the summer of 2023, the group’s five member states made a bold decision: they invited five new countries to join. The move was greeted with considerable skepticism. Some observers questioned the selection process, noting that the criteria for membership remained unclear. Others warned that doubling the size of an already diverse association would only make consensus more difficult.

The broader criticism was simple. Instead of deepening cooperation among the original five members, BRICS had chosen expansion. At the time, the wisdom of prioritizing quantity over institutional development seemed far from obvious.

One of the new invitees was Iran. That same year, Tehran also joined the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) after the lifting of some international sanctions. A development that, as it later turned out, proved temporary.

The US and Israeli attack on Iran has now placed both BRICS and the SCO in an uncomfortable position. If an organization fails to react to aggression against one of its members, it risks appearing irrelevant. Yet a strong show of solidarity carries its own risks. Few countries are eager to openly confront Washington. Particularly when some BRICS members, such as India and the United Arab Emirates, maintain close partnerships with the United States.

In the end, the SCO issued a cautious and largely symbolic statement expressing “deep concern” and calling for peace. BRICS chose silence, taking advantage of its deliberately informal structure.

Some critics have taken this as proof that BRICS is ineffective or even obsolete. But such conclusions reflect unrealistic expectations about what the group was ever meant to be.

The disappointment surrounding BRICS stems from an exaggerated view of its capabilities. In reality, a strategic choice was made in 2023. Instead of transforming BRICS into a formal international institution, its members opted to expand what might be described as a geopolitical “space without the West.” Not a bloc against the West, but an arena where cooperation can take place independently of it.

Even in its original five-member form, turning BRICS into a fully institutionalized organization would have been difficult. The participating countries have vastly different economic structures, geopolitical priorities, and strategic partnerships. Attempting to impose rigid institutional structures on such a diverse group would likely have paralyzed it.

The alternative, building a flexible network outside the Western-centric system, remains largely a project for the future. For now, the US retains enormous leverage through its dominance of the global financial system. That power gives Washington significant tools to undermine initiatives that threaten its position.

Yet it would be premature to write off BRICS.

The administration of Donald Trump has chosen to deploy pressure with unusual directness in an attempt to reverse the decline of American and Western influence. This approach relies less on diplomatic consensus than on blunt demonstrations of power.

The war with Iran represents an even clearer departure from previous constraints. It signals a willingness to rely on force justified largely by its own existence. Such tactics may achieve short-term results because few states are eager to challenge overwhelming power directly. But maintaining this strategy over the long term will be far more difficult.

A deeper conceptual shift is already underway.

During the era of liberal globalization, the Western-led system of rules was widely accepted because it offered tangible benefits to many participants. While the developed world remained the primary beneficiary, others also gained access to markets, capital and technology. The ideological argument underpinning this system was simple: Western leadership ultimately benefited everyone, even if the distribution of gains was uneven.

Today that narrative has largely collapsed. Even rhetorically, it has been replaced by something far more direct.

Trump’s behavior often resembles the caricature of a capitalist villain familiar from Soviet propaganda: take what you can, and dare anyone to resist. Yet even the US cannot indefinitely dominate global politics through pressure alone.

As a result, the need for alternatives, for mechanisms that reduce dependence on American power, is becoming increasingly obvious to many countries. Not long ago, this idea required persuasion. Today, events themselves are making the case.

BRICS is unlikely to become a formal anti-American coalition. Nor is it destined to serve as a military or ideological counterweight to the US. But the countries involved represent a substantial share of the global economy and population. Together, they have the potential to shape the contours of a future world order.

Washington appears to understand this instinctively. Trump’s repeated outbursts against BRICS reflect precisely that recognition.

For now, the group remains an imperfect and loosely organized platform. But preserving it – and allowing it to evolve – may prove to be one of the most important lessons for the future.

This article was first published by the magazine Profile and was translated and edited by the RT team.

Unlike Paris, London eventually realized that the loss of its colonial empire was inevitable. At a certain point, the British elite even tried to manage the process in a way that would make it less traumatic for the metropolis. The end of empire carried obvious economic and reputational costs. Yet it also produced a deeper political dilemma. With the empire dismantled, what remained was ‘Little England’, a country with vast ambitions but far fewer resources to fulfill them.

For the British establishment, finding a new international role became an urgent task. Few people embodied this dilemma more clearly than Winston Churchill. He had begun his career at the geopolitical zenith of the British Empire at the turn of the twentieth century. By the mid-1940s, he had already witnessed its decline.

Churchill’s famous speech in Fulton, Missouri, in March 1946 reflected this reality. Its core message was that peace and the effective functioning of the United Nations would depend on the strength and unity of the English-speaking world and its allies. Churchill acknowledged a difficult truth: the United States had now reached the summit of global power.

For the representative of a nation that had itself recently occupied that position, this was no small admission. Churchill therefore framed the moment not simply as a transfer of leadership but as a shared responsibility. America, he warned, possessed overwhelming power, and with it came an enormous burden.

“You must feel uneasy,” he told his American audience, “that you may not be able to live up to what is expected of you.”

Churchill’s solution was clear. If the British Commonwealth and the United States acted together by combining their air power, naval power, and scientific and economic strength then the unstable balance of power that tempted aggression would disappear. In such a partnership, Britain’s influence could endure even as its empire faded.

Four-fifths of the “century ahead” that Churchill spoke about have now passed. Looking back, striking parallels with the present are difficult to ignore. A new kind of curtain has once again descended across Europe, although this time it is drawn from the opposite side.

During the Cold War, the Soviet Union sealed off its ideological and geopolitical sphere from the West. Today, it is the Western world that is increasingly isolating Russia. The confrontation Churchill described eventually produced something unexpected. Instead of open war, it led to a relatively stable system of coexistence that endured for decades. The Cold War became what the American historian John Lewis Gaddis famously called the ‘Long Peace’, a period in which Europe avoided major war and global conflicts remained limited.

Churchill himself did not advocate destroying or dismantling the Soviet Union. His goal was containment, preserving the balance of power and preventing expansion while recognizing the USSR as a permanent part of the international system.

Two weeks before Churchill delivered his Fulton speech, American diplomat George Kennan had already laid out the intellectual foundation for containment. Stationed in Moscow, Kennan sent his famous ‘Long Telegram’ to Washington, analyzing Soviet behavior and recommending a strategy of patient resistance. Later published in Foreign Affairs under the pseudonym ‘Mr. X’, the document became one of the most influential texts of the twentieth century.

Churchill may have exaggerated Moscow’s ambitions to spread its political model worldwide. Yet in doing so, he acknowledged something important: the Soviet Union possessed the capacity to challenge the West. That reality shaped the structure of the Cold War.

In Churchill’s worldview, the Soviet Union was not an anomaly that could be eliminated but an essential element of the global balance. Britain’s relevance, he believed, would be preserved by helping to organize the Western response to such a formidable opponent.

History treated Churchill and Kennan differently. Churchill died twenty years before the Soviet Union embarked on perestroika, a process that ultimately ended the Cold War. Kennan lived much longer. In the final decades of his life, he became an increasingly vocal critic of American policy.

He warned that NATO expansion, the war in Iraq and other decisions were shortsighted and dangerous. The Cold War, he believed, had cultivated a political culture that emphasized prudence and long-term thinking. When the Cold War ended, that culture disappeared with it.

When Churchill and Kennan first articulated the strategy of containment eighty years ago, they could not have known how long it would last or what consequences it would produce. Four decades later, Western leaders celebrated what they saw as a historic victory. Yet another forty years on, that confidence has faded.

The disappearance of a rival power did not bring lasting stability. Instead, it removed the equilibrium that had structured international politics for decades. Without that balance, the global system became more unpredictable.

The attempt by the administration of Joe Biden to revive a simplified Cold War framework, the familiar rhetoric of a “community of democracies” confronting autocracies, failed to restore order.

The liberal world order that emerged from the ideals of the Atlantic Charter in the 1940s has gradually evolved into something more pragmatic and transactional. It would be wrong to suggest that there was a clear moment of rupture. The transition has been gradual, almost natural. But even the countries that claim leadership in this system no longer seem certain where it is heading.

Britain, for its part, has never regained the global influence Churchill once hoped it might preserve. The Cold War is sometimes remembered nostalgically as an era of confrontation governed by clear rules. In reality, there was little about it worth romanticizing.

And the solutions of that era will not work again. New curtains continue to descend across the world, each one promising security while concealing uncertainty behind it. In 1946, immediately after the most devastating war in human history, there was at least one universal conviction: such a catastrophe must never be repeated.

Today, even that certainty appears less secure than it once did.

This article was first published in RT.

‘Shock and awe’ was the term used to describe the US operation against Iraq in spring 2003. In hindsight, it marked a turning point. The rapid defeat of the Ba’athist regime and the overthrow of Saddam Hussein created the impression that the US had acquired the ability to reshape entire regions at will.

Reality turned out differently. The war did bring change, but not the kind its architects envisaged. The old order in the Middle East collapsed, replaced not by stability but by a chain of crises that demanded enormous resources to contain, with limited success. The blow to America’s global reputation proved lasting.

At the end of winter 2026, the US and Israel launched Operation Epic Fury against Iran. In a sense, Iran’s emergence as the principal adversary of both countries is a direct consequence of the Iraq campaign two decades earlier. Whether today’s attackers can achieve quick and decisive results remains unclear. Iran is the most serious opponent the US has confronted directly in many decades. Even if military success is swift, the balance of forces is not in Iran’s favour, and even if the post-war chaos of Iraq is avoided by steering clear of internal occupation, the broader consequences are likely to disappoint.

The immediate driver of the current escalation is Israel’s determination to exploit a unique constellation of circumstances. From West Jerusalem’s perspective, this is a moment to secure a dominant regional position with Washington’s backing. The vision is of a regional order centered on Israel to which others must adapt, willingly or otherwise.

US President Donald Trump and the ideologues shaping his Middle East policy, many of whom are also relatives and business partners, have their own calculations. Israeli military superiority, combined with deepening commercial ties between Israel and the Gulf monarchies, would allow the US to channel economic benefits primarily to itself. Major geo-economic and logistical projects of interest to China, Russia, and India would become dependent on American oversight. Washington would expand its control over key markets, particularly raw materials and military-technical cooperation. At the same time, the supposed ineffectiveness of groupings created without US participation, above all BRICS and the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, would be put on display.

The motive is transparent. The question is feasibility.

The Iraq War also began with slogans of regional restructuring in the name of security, laced with unmistakable mercantile interests – one need only recall Dick Cheney and Halliburton. Yet the central justification was ideological: The export of democracy. Trump and his circle have relegated ideology to the background, emphasizing material returns instead. The earlier approach failed not merely because democratic transformation proved illusory, but because prolonged instability made it impossible to extract the desired dividends.

The new, openly transactional model may appear more pragmatic, but it carries its own risks. External coercion framed purely in commercial terms can provoke powerful ideological backlash, awakening forces united precisely by their rejection of imposed order.

Trump has launched a major military operation without congressional approval, against public sentiment, and with the prospect of real losses. He needs a triumph to reverse unfavorable domestic trends.

If successful, the White House may conclude that it has history, and even God, on its side, encouraging greater assertiveness at home and abroad. If not, escalation may still follow, as aggression becomes a substitute for results.

Either way, the Middle East is entering another phase of turbulence, with consequences that will radiate far beyond the region. And that, for all involved, promises nothing good.

This article was first published in Kommersant, and was translated and edited by the RT team.

Iranian Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei is dead and the international system is entering a far more dangerous phase than many appear willing to acknowledge.

One may hold any opinion about the Islamic Republic of Iran, about its ideology or ruling elite. There are ample grounds for criticism, some severe. Yet one basic fact remains: Ali Khamenei was the legitimate head of a UN member state, recognized by virtually the entire international community, and a lawful participant in international relations. This included ongoing political negotiations with those who ultimately organized the attack, negotiations that continued until the moment the hostilities began.

The targeted destruction of a state’s leadership by another state as a matter of deliberate policy marks a fundamentally new stage in world politics. This is not merely another episode of regime change.

Even when compared with the brutal ends of Muammar Gaddafi or Saddam Hussein, the difference is stark. Gaddafi was killed by Libyan opponents amid internal collapse; Hussein was executed following a trial conducted by an Iraqi court, however flawed one may judge it.

Iran’s case is different. It resembles the method Israel has used against the leadership of Hezbollah and Hamas: direct elimination by external force, without intermediaries, without legal framing, and without the pretense of internal process.

What is being dismantled here are the remaining restraining mechanisms of international relations inherited from earlier eras. Because this erosion has been gradual, many political elites treat these events as sharp but understandable manifestations of geopolitical rivalry. They are mistaken.

Opponents of the US are entitled to draw two clear conclusions. First, negotiating with Washington is pointless. The only viable options are capitulation or preparation for a force-based resolution.

Second, there is no longer any safe retreat and nothing meaningful left to lose. In these circumstances, any remaining instruments, be they literal or figurative, become legitimate.

These conclusions will hold regardless of how events in Iran unfold in the coming days.

Even if some version of the Venezuelan model emerges, a backstage power transfer designed to satisfy all external stakeholders, the damage will not be undone. The method has been demonstrated. The mechanism for forcibly changing governments and bringing them under control has been openly displayed.

Resistance to this model will now harden, not soften. It will become more determined, more desperate, and potentially more destructive.

In this context, there is little point in invoking international law, even as irony.

This article was first published by RT.

A sharp exchange between American and Indian representatives at last weekend’s Munich Security Conference offered a revealing snapshot of how the emerging world order actually functions. Following the line set by his boss, US President Donald Trump, US Secretary of State Marco Rubio claimed that New Delhi had promised Washington it would stop buying Russian oil.

Soon after, speaking at another panel, Indian Foreign Minister Subrahmanyam Jaishankar declined to confirm any such commitment. India, he said, would make its own decisions, “which may not always be to your liking.” Everyone, he added, would have to live with that.

The truth, as usual, likely lies somewhere in between. But the episode is less about who said what than about a deeper, systemic issue.

India has found itself, somewhat unexpectedly, at the center of Washington’s attempt to construct an international regime tailored to US interests. This is not a world order in the classical sense, with rules accepted as legitimate by all. It is a looser, more transactional system of relationships with major states, designed to maximize American political and economic advantage.

The surge in trade between Russia and India in recent years, above all through Russian energy exports, has naturally drawn the White House’s attention. But the pressure on New Delhi goes beyond oil. India is one of the most populous, fastest-growing, and strategically important powers of the coming decades. Integrating it into a US-centric framework would be a prize in itself. Not to mention an instructive precedent for others.

The Russian angle is especially convenient. It can be framed as part of a supposedly noble effort to bring peace to Ukraine, rather than as naked economic coercion. Unlike other manifestations of Trumpism, which are openly mercantilist, this one can be wrapped in moral language. At the same time, Russia and India genuinely share a long-standing relationship, built over decades through political trust and mutual sympathy, at least insofar as such sentiments exist between states. Precisely because that relationship is stable and resilient, it is all the more tempting for Washington to weaken it and redirect it to its own advantage.

India is a founding member of BRICS, a rising global actor with ambitions commensurate to its size. A country of this stature cannot simply follow someone else’s instructions. By definition, it is sovereign and it regularly reminds the world of that fact.

Yet sovereignty does not imply limitless freedom of action. India’s room for maneuver is constrained by economic realities, strategic dependencies, and regional rivalries. Independence, in practice, requires flexibility: a constant balancing between what is desirable and what is achievable.

From a purely economic standpoint, buying Russian oil – clearly cheaper than many alternatives – makes eminent sense for India. Sustained growth is essential for a country with a vast, still-disadvantaged population and the ever-present risk of social instability. At the same time, the United States is India’s largest trading partner, an indispensable factor not only economically but also strategically. China, meanwhile, is both a key economic partner within the non-Western world and India’s principal geopolitical and military rival. The resulting picture is anything but simple.

Jaishankar’s remark that India would take decisions “you will not like” was aimed squarely at Western audiences. It was a reminder not to expect obedience. Yet the same logic can be applied elsewhere. Moscow, too, is watching uneasily as India trims Russian oil purchases under US pressure. From a Russian perspective, such maneuvering – one might more bluntly call it opportunism – can look like a lack of sovereignty, a willingness to accommodate another power’s interests at one’s own expense.

But this judgment reflects a specifically Russian understanding of sovereignty. Shaped by history, Russia’s conception is rigid and uncompromising, defined by resistance to external influence in almost any form. This approach is increasingly rare in an interconnected world.

India’s understanding, like that of many other states, is different.

Sovereignty does not necessarily mean refusing to bend under pressure; it means finding ways to realize one’s interests under less-than-ideal conditions. The core of those interests is internal stability and continued development, priorities that have become even more urgent amid global turbulence.

Domestic cohesion has always mattered. Today, however, interdependence magnifies its importance. Internal unrest now interacts with external shocks, amplifying their destabilizing effects. For most governments, preserving the social and political balance at home takes precedence over abstract principles or ideological consistency.

This is the practical reality of what is often called a multipolar world. Strip away the rhetoric, and it operates according to an old rule, newly repackaged in modern language: look after your own first. The so-called global majority follows precisely this logic. States pursue their interests as they understand them, adjusting to circumstances rather than clinging to dogma.

When dealing with partners, a calm, unsentimental approach is therefore essential. Acting in one’s own interest is not cynicism; it is normal state behavior. Russia must do the same; steadily, confidently, and without illusions. Whether others approve is secondary. What matters is trusting one’s own judgment and acting accordingly.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, translated and edited by the RT team.

After last August’s meeting between the Russian and American presidents in Alaska, a new phrase entered diplomatic circulation: the “spirit of Anchorage.” The substance of the talks was never officially disclosed and can only be reconstructed from selective leaks. The form, however, was striking: a personal greeting, an honor guard, a shared limousine. Symbolism mattered. It was meant to signal seriousness.

Yet the question remains: what exactly was born in Anchorage? And does it belong in the lineage of earlier diplomatic “spirits” that once defined entire eras?

The term itself is not new. Before Anchorage, there was the “spirit of Yalta,” the “spirit of Helsinki,” and, briefly, the “spirit of Malta.” All three marked turning points in relations between the great powers during the second half of the twentieth century. Yalta in 1945 laid the foundations of the post-war world order, recognizing the USSR and the United States as its central pillars. Helsinki in 1975 codified that order, even as it quietly set the stage for its eventual erosion. Malta in 1989 symbolized the end of the Cold War and, with it, the division of Europe.

These meetings differed in format and outcome. Yalta brought together three victorious powers dividing spheres of influence. Helsinki was the product of prolonged multilateral negotiations designed to stabilize a tense status quo. Malta was a bilateral encounter that effectively ratified the retreat of one side under the banner of a “new world order.” But they shared one defining feature: each sought to determine the parameters of the international system itself.

Does Anchorage belong in this tradition?

Formally speaking, the Alaskan talks focused on Ukraine. That immediately raises a fundamental question. How realistic is it to reach a durable settlement without the direct participation of one of the warring parties? Such an approach is only viable if one of the interlocutors, in this case the United States, is both willing and able to compel Kiev to accept decisions taken without it.

Events since August suggest that Washington lacks this capacity, despite its considerable leverage. A more convincing explanation, however, is that it lacks the motivation. Donald Trump has made resolving the Ukrainian conflict a matter of personal prestige. But prestige is not the same as strategic necessity. For Trump and the narrow circle around him, the precise configuration of a settlement matters less than the avoidance of an outright Russian victory. Beyond that, the exact line of demarcation, and the conditions under which it is maintained, are not critical.

The United States would only deploy the full weight of its political and economic power if it perceived these negotiations as shaping a new world order. That was the case at Yalta, Helsinki, and Malta. It is not the case today.

Moscow, by contrast, has invested Anchorage with precisely this broader meaning. From the very beginning of the military operation, Russia has framed the conflict not primarily in territorial terms, but as a question of European security architecture. Territory has, inevitably, grown in importance over time. But the core issue has remained unchanged: the principles governing security on the continent.

Today, this is often described as the question of “security guarantees for Ukraine.” In reality, it concerns the broader system within which such guarantees would exist. This may ultimately prove the most serious obstacle to any agreement.

Washington’s approach is different. The current American administration does not think in terms of comprehensive frameworks or shared rules. Its vision of world order is far more fragmented and instrumental. Control is exercised through economic pressure, military presence, and political leverage applied selectively to specific regions and problems. It is a model of targeted intervention rather than systemic design. A kind of forceful acupuncture.

In this context, agreements are not about principles, but about transactions. They are designed to deliver concrete, often mercantile, outcomes rather than to establish enduring rules of interaction. Ukraine, from this perspective, is one issue among many, not the axis around which a new order would be built.

If the goal is merely a political settlement of the Ukrainian conflict, the Russian-American format is insufficient. Ukraine itself would have to be involved, as would Europe. While Europe’s strategic weight is limited, it retains a significant capacity to obstruct any settlement it finds unacceptable. Ignoring this reality would be a mistake.

For the “spirit of Anchorage” to stand alongside Yalta, Helsinki, and Malta, it would need to aim higher: at the construction of a new global political system to replace the one that emerged after the Second World War and has endured, in various forms, for nearly 80 years.

Washington does not see Moscow as a central interlocutor in such a project. At most, this role is tentatively assigned to China. However, even that is far from settled. As a result, the “spirit of Anchorage” hovers uneasily between two incompatible interpretations of what the conversation is actually about.

From the Russian perspective, it is about redefining the foundations of European and global security. From the American side, it is about managing a specific conflict without altering the broader architecture of power. When the parties are not even discussing the same subject, the risk is obvious.

In such circumstances, the “spirit” inevitably fades, becoming less a guiding force than a rhetorical shadow. A ghost of an agreement that never quite came into being.

Could this change? Possibly, but only if events intervene that force both sides to move beyond regional calculations and confront the need for a more fundamental reordering. Until then, Anchorage remains suspended between ambition and reality, its promise unfulfilled.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team.

Even invoking international law has become awkward. Institutions look increasingly irrelevant as political and economic processes unfold demonstrably outside them.

This reaction is understandable. The latest targets of actions that violate the UN Charter and other legal norms are leading Western states, the very countries that dominate the global information space. When similar violations affected others in the past, they were treated as regrettable but secondary. The blame was placed on the moral or political shortcomings of the countries involved, including the victims, rather than on a systemic crisis.

Now the system itself is visibly eroding.

The United States has not only discarded conventions; it has begun applying this approach to its own allies. These are partners with whom it once negotiated as equals, or at least as trusted dependents. Decisions are made as if by divine mandate. The result has been consternation in Western Europe and even accusations of betrayal.

Washington is dismantling the world order it once built and led, an order many already regarded as flawed. Since transatlantic ties formed the backbone of the liberal international system, revising them has become a priority for the United States.

After the Cold War, the balance of power was clear. The US and its allies exercised dominance, enforced a single set of rules, and extracted the political and economic “rent” that came with global leadership. But shifts in global power and structural problems in the capitalist system have reduced those benefits while increasing the costs of maintaining hegemony.

The Biden administration represented a final attempt to repair the old model. Its goal was to recreate an ideologically unified and politically invincible West capable of leading the rest of the world – through persuasion when possible, coercion when necessary. That effort failed.

The new slogan is “peace through strength,” paired with “America First.” This approach is now enshrined in key doctrinal documents, including the National Security Strategy and the National Defense Strategy.

Power – not only military, but financial, technological and political – is placed at the center of policy. The only real constraint is America’s own capacity. If the previous era was described as a “rules-based order,” the new one might be called a “precedent-based order.”

Actions create precedents, and those precedents justify further actions. However, these precedents apply primarily to the United States. Others may behave similarly only when it suits Washington’s interests. The right of other states to act “the American way” is not rejected in principle, but it is tolerated only when they are strong enough and do not challenge US priorities.

This logic extends to allies, who now find themselves in an especially uncomfortable position. Under the previous system, they benefited greatly from American patronage. Chief among these benefits was the ability to minimize their own strategic spending by delegating responsibility to the United States. Washington encouraged this arrangement because it supported the functioning of the global order it led.

Today, what was once portrayed as mutually beneficial partnership is increasingly viewed in the US as an unprofitable subsidy. Washington wants to recover past costs and avoid future burdens. This abrupt shift has shocked its allies, but from a strictly material perspective, the reasoning is not irrational. Even a future change of administration is unlikely to reverse this basic reassessment of alliances.

Against this background, the Board of Peace solemnly announced in Davos can easily be dismissed as Donald Trump’s personal ornament. Yet it is revealing.

In a world defined by power, those who lack it must compensate by offering something to those who have it. The most effective offering is financial tribute, hence the billion-dollar contributions.

If that is too costly, enthusiastic displays of loyalty may suffice. Membership in such a body appears to function as a form of political insurance: protection from the chairman’s displeasure.

For large, independent powers, participation is almost impossible. A structure in which rights are explicitly limited by the founder’s will, and where procedures remain unclear, contradicts the very idea of sovereignty. Whether or not the Council works in practice is secondary. Its symbolic meaning is clear: recognition of the White House’s supremacy.

The Trump administration understands that the world has changed and is searching for ways to preserve, or even expand, American advantages. Other major players in the emerging multipolar order must do the same, but in their own interests and according to their own logic.

If Washington openly advocates rational egoism grounded in power, others have little reason not to draw their own conclusions.

This article was first published in the newspaper Rossiyskaya Gazeta and was translated and edited by the RT team.

“What we are about to do here is a neighborly act. We are like a group of householders, living in the same locality, who decide to express their community of interests by entering into a formal association for their mutual self-protection.”

That was US President Harry Truman on April 4, 1949, at the signing of the Washington Declaration creating NATO. It is an effective metaphor, and a convincing one. But it can also be turned around.

In a recent Fox News interview about Greenland, US Permanent Representative to the UN Michael Waltz remarked: “Denmark just doesn’t have the resources or capacity to do what needs to be done in the northern region. And to the Democrats who say ‘they’re giving you full access,’ everybody knows if you’re renting a place you treat it differently than if you own it.”

You can’t really argue with that either. Ownership is more reliable than contractual relationships, which assume goodwill. Goodwill exists today and disappears tomorrow. Legal ownership also confers rights that a temporary user does not have. In relation to Greenland, this is a question of the Arctic shelf. If the US were to formally own the world’s largest island, the question of redistributing influence in the Far North would not be raised between NATO and Moscow (currently, all Arctic powers except Russia are NATO members), but between the US and everyone else.

This spring NATO will celebrate its 77th anniversary. That is a respectable age for an international organization, but modest by historical standards. Experience teaches that no structure exists forever.

Still, statements by Western European politicians suggesting that a direct conflict between the US and Denmark could lead to “the end of NATO” are meant to terrify everyone involved. The implied claim is that this would bring about the collapse of the world order.

The perception is understandable. Since the mid-20th century NATO has played a structuring role in the international system: first as part of the institutional basis of the Cold War, and later as the main ideological and political pillar of the liberal world order. There are few people left who remember international politics without a unified political West.

But before the post-war period such a phenomenon did not exist. The transformation of the USSR into a superpower created a “Western community” that consolidated ideologically as the “free world,” in addition to its military component. The successful conclusion of the Cold War for the West then established the North Atlantic community as a prototype for the international order as a whole. At the very least, the problems with the architecture of European security that have led to the current military confrontation have their roots in that period. It was decided then that the only correct security system for Europe was one centered on NATO, and that the unlimited expansion of the bloc was the key to stability. The result is clear.

Nevertheless, NATO is a product of a specific time: the Cold War and its immediate aftermath in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. That period has now ended.

All institutions from the second half of the last century are experiencing crises of varying severity, including even such a heavyweight as the UN. It would be unusual if an organization as prominent as NATO were an exception. The reason for the decline in organizational functionality lies not so much in internal problems, but in the fundamental change in the international situation.

Trump’s successor, Joe Biden, attempted to recreate the Cold War scenario by pitting Ukraine against Russia in a major ideological conflict between the “free” and “unfree” worlds, thereby establishing American dominance.

In terms of NATO cohesion, Western Europe was willing to join in for a while. However, Trump’s return derailed the initiative.

During his first term, Trump made no secret of his dissatisfaction with NATO. At that time, his criticism resembled that of previous American presidents, who also said European members should make a greater financial contribution to collective security. Those same Europeans reluctantly agreed to increase spending. Now the US is addressing the issue directly: the US does not really need NATO for security purposes, and Western Europe should develop its own defense capabilities by purchasing everything it needs from the US. That would require increased military spending.

Will NATO come to an end? For now, Western Europe seems to be panicking about losing American patronage because it does not know how to proceed militarily or politically.

It seems unlikely the White House would forcibly seize Greenland, since that would be unpopular both in Greenland and in the US. So it is more likely that a conciliatory stance will be adopted. For now, it is possible to blame everything on one particular tyrant in the hope that things will change after he is gone. But the atmosphere inside the “group of householders,” to use Truman’s metaphor, is already changing. It will not return to what it was before.

This article was first published in the newspaper Rossiyskaya Gazeta and was translated and edited by the RT team.

US President Donald Trump has reportedly delivered an ultimatum to a group of European countries: accept the sale of Greenland to the United States, or face additional trade tariffs.

This is not the first ultimatum Trump has issued. In recent years there have been several aimed at Russia, many of which were later quietly forgotten. In that sense, the old joke fits perfectly: Trump is a man of his word. He gives his word and then takes it back.

But there is a difference here. Trump’s irritation with these Western Europeans is not a secret. Nor is his conviction that the bloc owes Washington everything, while being incapable of achieving anything serious without American patronage. If he chooses consistency anywhere, it is likely to be in this direction.

Why Greenland? Several motives overlap.

First, vanity. This may be the most important factor in Trump’s personal psychology.

He wants to enter history as the president who made America the second largest country in the world by territory. Geography matters to him as a symbol of greatness. This is political branding, imperial nostalgia, and personal ambition rolled into one.

Second, Greenland’s strategic value is real. The Arctic is turning into a region of long-term competition. The list of interests is broad: minerals, military infrastructure, logistics routes, and even data centres, for which cold temperatures offer obvious advantages. In theory, Washington could get much of what it wants simply by negotiating with Denmark. But Trump is not thinking like a diplomat. His instinct is closer to that of a developer: it is safer to own than to rent.

More broadly, it is a reaction to a world he sees as unstable and increasingly hostile. In such a world, no agreement is permanent. Only direct control counts.

Third, Greenland fits Trump’s revived understanding of the Monroe Doctrine in its original spirit: keeping European powers out of the Western Hemisphere. In this logic, Denmark is an anachronism, the last colonial presence in the region. Why should Greenland, located thousands of kilometers from Copenhagen, remain under Danish sovereignty?

And this brings us to the larger issue: what does this mean for NATO?

The very idea that NATO might one day cease to exist feels staggering. Most people alive today have never known a world without it. Since the middle of the 20th century the alliance has been a pillar of international politics: first during the Cold War, then in the decades after. Its role has changed, but its institutional weight has only grown.

Yet historically, there was no unified “political West” until the second half of the last century. It emerged under conditions that no longer exist in the same form. This does not mean NATO will collapse tomorrow. A compromise can still be found, especially since the belief that NATO is unnecessary does not dominate in the United States. It is a Trumpian position, not a consensus one.

Western Europe, meanwhile, is not capable of quickly building an independent military-political bloc. Even if such an ambition were declared, it is unclear whether it could be realized without American support. Broader European interests diverge, and threat perceptions vary sharply from country to country.

NATO will likely endure, simply because large institutions possess momentum and inertia. But if nearly all the major institutions built in the second half of the 20th century are now in crisis due to changed circumstances, one question becomes unavoidable: why should NATO be the exception?

This article was first published in Kommersant, and was translated and edited by the RT team.