Monday, February 23, 2026

The Day After Khamenei: Iran’s ‘Liberation’ Will Begin as an IRGC Power Struggle

 


The IRGC controls the regime’s security forces, intelligence services, and economic networks, making it the most likely actor to dominate Iran’s immediate post-Khamenei transition.

Many imagine the day after Ali Khamenei as a moment of sudden liberation: Iranians shaking off the mullahs and deciding their own destiny. The likelier opening act is far less romantic. 

The immediate aftermath will probably look less like a velvet revolution and more like the opening round of an insider power struggle—staged and refereed by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and its allies. The institutions that have grown strongest under Khamenei are not parliaments, parties, or independent courts, but the security state and its sprawling economic empire. Those are the actors best positioned to inherit the republic he leaves behind.

Iran’s Transition Will Unfold in Two Phases

The most probable political sequence is a two‑step process: 

Phase one is an insider succession: IRGC commanders and regime factions compete, bargain, and improvise a new leadership formula that keeps real power in roughly the same hands. 

Phase two—if it comes at all—follows only if that militarized order fails to stabilize the country: then ordinary Iranians may get a real opening to renegotiate the system. Calling the fall of Khamenei “liberation,” therefore, misses the hard part. The man at the top may go; the deep state he built intends to survive him.

Khamenei spent decades shaping a system that prevents civilian alternatives from emerging. Presidents have been weakened, parliaments tamed, and independent clerical voices marginalized. By contrast, the IRGC has expanded across military, intelligence, internal security, regional operations, and large parts of the sanctioned economy. Formal succession rules remain on paper, but any “legal” solution will hold only if a coalition of Guard commanders, senior clerics, and insiders agrees to back it. Khamenei did not prepare Iran for life after him; he prepared the system to reproduce itself without him.

Why the IRGC Is Positioned to Control the Transition

That is why the immediate day after will likely be an IRGC‑led settlement rather than popular sovereignty. 

The Guards control the hard power—bases, missile forces, internal security organs—and dominate economic channels that provide cash and leverage. Their first instinct in a crisis will be to protect commanders from prosecution, safeguard assets, and shape a leadership outcome that leaves them as ultimate arbiters. Whether the result is a weak new supreme leader, a collective council, or a “national salvation” government, the logic is the same: when the portrait comes down, the men with guns and money will be first to decide who goes up in its place.

None of this means Khamenei’s fall would be meaningless. It would shatter the aura of permanence around the system and embolden both elites and citizens to imagine alternatives. But it does mean that “liberation” is likely to be delayed, not delivered on day one. His departure will not magically erase the Basij, intelligence networks, prisons, or the patronage structures that tie millions of livelihoods to the state. The most realistic first post‑Khamenei order is a hybrid: formally more collective, perhaps more pragmatic on the surface, but structurally dominated by the same security actors. For ordinary Iranians, the morning after is more likely to feel like the aftermath of a palace coup than the fall of an empire.

What Could Break an IRGC-Managed Iran

The key question is not whether phase one happens—it almost certainly will—but whether it can hold. Three pressures could break or erode an IRGC‑heavy arrangement and open the door to a deeper transition. 

First, renewed mass protest. A successor that cannot deliver economic relief, dignity, or even the illusion of change will face a society that has repeatedly shown a willingness to risk everything. 

Second, elite fragmentation. The Guards are not monolithic; rival networks in business, the clergy, and the bureaucracy could split if the costs of isolation and mismanagement rise. 

Third, the external environment. Sustained regional and international pressure that raises the price of repression and closes off easy sanctions‑busting rents could strain the security empire.

If these forces converge, the security elite that inherits Khamenei may find it cannot both keep what it has and stabilize the country. That is when a real opening appears. 

Phase two will not be a Hollywood moment of sudden freedom but a messy process in which Iranians—through strikes, protests, negotiations, and sometimes violence—force a more fundamental renegotiation of the social contract. That could mean debates over a new constitution, serious regional demands for decentralization, and the emergence of leaders from inside society rather than only from exile or the old establishment. 

If Iranians are ever to decide their own destiny, it will be at the expense of a weakened, divided security elite—not instead of it.

External Forces Should Not Legitimize an IRGC Takeover Nor Impose a Blueprint

For outside actors, especially the United States, this two‑phase logic is a warning against both naïve optimism and cynical fatalism. Naïve optimism assumes you remove Khamenei and you get democracy. Cynical fatalism assumes the IRGC will simply entrench itself forever. Both are wrong. The sober view is that the first post‑Khamenei order will be IRGC‑managed, and only the failure of that project will create a genuine opening. Policy should therefore avoid two mistakes: legitimizing a militarized restoration as reform, and imposing territorial or institutional blueprints from abroad. Instead, external powers should calibrate tools to keep space open—politically, diplomatically, and economically—for Iranians to turn a top‑level power struggle into a deeper reckoning with the system.

The day Khamenei falls, many will call it liberation. They will be right that an era has ended. But it will not yet be the birth of a free Iran. Between the Supreme Leader and the people stands an entire security empire that will try to inherit his throne. Whether Iranians can turn that inheritance into a reckoning—that, not the fall of one man, is the real question of the day after.

Gaza, Iran, and America’s Strategic Reset

 


Azerbaijan could play a critical role in ongoing peace efforts in the Middle East—particularly in engagement with neighboring Iran.

At the inaugural session of the Board of Peace on February 19, US president Donald Trump is expected to outline a Gaza reconstruction plan and a UN-mandated stabilization force to secure the enclave. Representatives from at least 20 states, including several national leaders, are expected in Washington. A key focus will be the establishment of a multi-billion-dollar fund that pools member contributions for post-conflict recovery. US officials say Trump will also announce which states have pledged thousands of troops for the multinational force in Gaza.

One month into President Trump’s second term, I argued in “The US Geostrategy and the Old World Order” that the United States had begun a historic recalibration of its foreign-policy doctrine. This transformation was long in the making, shaped by three decades of geopolitical realities since the Soviet Union’s collapse in 1991. I noted that shifts of this magnitude rarely proceed smoothly, producing a turbulent transition as institutions, alliances, and assumptions resist change. While instability is inherent to systemic realignment, addressing new threats with outdated frameworks is increasingly untenable and risky.

America’s Burden-Sharing Approach to Middle East Diplomacy

For the United States to pursue a geostrategy of global management through burden-sharing and burden-shifting, Washington must first resolve legacy conflicts that limit flexibility. The Middle East remains the most complex, with the Trump Administration focusing on the Board of Peace approach centered on Gaza. The initiative aims to end a regional war and build a coalition to assume long-term security, stabilization, and reconstruction responsibilities. Yet developments within and about Iran could complicate the plan, potentially requiring support from states beyond the region—most notably Azerbaijan.

Operationalizing this approach requires careful diplomacy with key regional players, particularly Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Israel, as well as the United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Egypt, and Jordan. Resolving conflicts among them helps align allies capable of assuming most security and stabilization responsibilities. Turkey and Saudi Arabia are central to this approach, ideally coordinated with Israel. Yet diverging Turkish and Israeli interests, Saudi Arabia’s retreat from normalization efforts with Israel, and Saudi-UAE divergence complicate a coherent regional strategy.

The regional calculus is further complicated by Iran’s geopolitical fragility. Ongoing American diplomacy faces mounting strains as factional divisions in Tehran deepen, reflected in the weakening of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and the growing influence of the Artesh. These dynamics have prompted the deployment of a second US carrier strike group, heightening the risk of renewed conflict. Washington is attempting to guide the region toward post-conflict stabilization even as the possibility of confrontation with Iran persists.

Reconciling Turkey and Saudi Arabia with Israel while managing tensions with Iran will require skillful statecraft from the Trump administration. Azerbaijan is well-positioned to assist due to its unique diplomatic ties. It maintains close relations with Turkey, the UAE, and Israel, while also engaging Saudi Arabia. Washington can leverage Baku as a key intermediary to coordinate regional actors.

Azerbaijan has already demonstrated both the intent and capability to act as a strategic intermediary in the Middle East. It has hosted deconfliction talks between Turkey and Israel, underscoring its readiness to bridge regional divides. Baku has also served as a conduit between Israel and the new regime in Syria, exemplified by Ahmed al-Shara’s visit to Baku. Its participation in the Board of Peace further highlights the country’s growing diplomatic importance.

What Azerbaijan Brings to the Peace Table

An unparalleled combination of geographic, historical, and sociopolitical factors confers exceptional leverage on Azerbaijan. Positioned along Iran’s northwestern frontier, it borders provinces with large ethnic Azeri populations whose cultural ties to Baku remain strong. Azerbaijan’s secular model, combined with the Iranian Azeris’ presence in senior state and military roles, offers the United States a potential window into Iran’s internal dynamics. Leveraging these connections, Baku could support stabilization efforts and help shape Tehran’s behavior amid ongoing diplomacy and security pressure.

Vice President JD Vance’s Feb. 10–11 visit to Baku advanced US geostrategy by formalizing Azerbaijan’s role in regional stabilization. The two countries signed a Strategic Partnership Charter, committing to enhanced maritime security and economic connectivity. The visit underscores Baku’s strategic value as US lawmakers consider repealing Section 907 of the 1992 Freedom Support Act. Originally enacted during the 1988–94 Armenia-Azerbaijan war and supported by diaspora lobbying, 907 is now largely obsolete following the 2020–23 conflict and the August 2025 peace deal brokered by the Trump administration.

It remains a barrier to expanding American-Azerbaijani ties envisioned in the Strategic Charter signed by Vance. The Armenian National Committee of America’s effort to preserve the restriction is increasingly anachronistic and counterproductive to the very community it seeks to serve. Profound changes in Armenia’s own interests, regional geopolitics, and American global strategy have altered the landscape. Overcoming Cold War–era constraints is essential for Washington to operationalize its new geostrategy in the Middle East and West Asia.

The End of Rojava Is Bad News for the United States

 


American support for Syria’s subjugation of “Rojava”—the autonomous Kurdish-led administration in its northeast—is regarded by many of its supporters as a betrayal.

“Rojava” is the name that many Kurds use for their homeland across northern and eastern Syria and is part of Kurdistan’s wider geography and history. For decades, the countries of the region have attempted to suppress Kurdish identity in that region, treating the Kurdish language and culture with suspicion and hostility. However, when Syria collapsed into civil war in 2011, the people of Rojava built their own local administration system—both to survive and to take their fate into their own hands, a move that proved critical during the rise of ISIS in 2013.

When ISIS swept across Syria and Iraq and declared its “caliphate,” the Kurdish forces rooted in Rojava became the most reliable ground fighters against it. Those forces became the core of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), which helped to defeat ISIS in Syria’s east. After the United States-led coalition announced ISIS’s territorial defeat in March 2019, the SDF, including Kurdish women under the name of Women’s Protection Units (YPJ), was the main ground force that fought house by house to reach that outcome. The Kurds paid a heavy price for their leading role in the fight; around 11,000 SDF members were killed in the war against ISIS, and over 20,000 wounded.

One of the things that drew global attention to Rojava’s struggle against ISIS was the extensive involvement of Kurdish women in the battlefields. Although women’s participation in political and military affairs is a rarity in the Middle East, for Rojava, it was a way to deliver a political statement that women belonged at the center of society, not at its edges. Throughout the struggle against ISIS, Kurdish women fought in frontline units and commanded fighters, including many men. In the minds of international observers, the YPJ’s fight against ISIS also functioned as a morality play: a movement advocating for women’s emancipation fighting against one built on women’s slavery.

The United States Has Long Protected Rojava

ISIS was never Rojava’s only enemy. To the north, Turkey has long viewed the Kurdish-led autonomous zone along its border as a national security threat—arguing that the SDF is linked to the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK), a Kurdish militant organization in Turkey that is designated a terrorist organization by the United States.

To combat the alleged influence of the PKK, Turkey launched several major cross-border military operations in different parts of Rojava between 2016 and 2019. According to a UN Security Council report, the 2019 Turkey attacks alone resulted in the displacement of more than 200,000 people in northern Syria. Today, Turkish forces and Turkish-allied Syrian militias maintain a sustained presence in Turkish-occupied areas of northern Syria along the border. According to Human Rights Watch, serious human rights abuses have taken place in these areas, including abductions, arbitrary detention, torture, and sexual violence.

For years, the United States acted as a partial shield for Rojava and the SDF against those enemies. Washington has never officially recognized Kurdish autonomy, but it armed and trained the SDF because the SDF was the most effective partner against ISIS. That partnership also gave the SDF strategic responsibilities, allowing it to control border checkpoints, oil and gas sites, and—most critically—the detention camps and prisons holding former ISIS fighters and their families. For the United States, shielding Rojava was strategically necessary: any sudden collapse of the SDF’s authority could lead to chaos in eastern Syria and potentially a resurgence of ISIS activity.

Ahmed al-Shara and the Rojava Question

This situation persisted until December 2024, when—to the astonishment of both Washington and the capitals of the Middle East—Syria’s political map abruptly turned upside down. Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), an Islamist rebel movement in northern Syria led by Abu Mohammad al-Jolani, struck south and annihilated the moribund regime of Bashar al-Assad, swiftly taking control of western Syria. After consolidating power in Damascus, Jolani returned to his birth name—Ahmed al-Shara—and declared himself Syria’s transitional president in January 2025.

The sudden fall of the decades-long Assad dictatorship after decades of human rights abuses was celebrated across the region. Yet for the Kurds of northeastern Syria, the rise of Shara in his place raised major concerns about Rojava’s future. After all, the man now pressuring them to dissolve their autonomy and submit to Damascus’ authority was someone whose political origins sat inside the same jihadist world Rojava had long fought against to survive.

Shara’s pre-presidential career is long and colorful. He cut his teeth fighting against US troops in Iraq as a member of al-Qaeda, before being captured and incarcerated in an American prison camp. While in prison, Shara successfully passed himself off as an Iraqi, leading to more lenient treatment; he was released from prison in 2011 and promptly reassigned to Syria to organize an al-Qaeda cell there amidst the national uprising. When the leader of the “Islamic State of Iraq,” Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, attempted to absorb Nusra into his organization, Shara refused, laying the groundwork for a bloody inter-Islamist fight within the broader Syrian war. Eventually, as ISIS crumbled and Syria’s other rebel groups declined, Shara’s organization—by then rebranded as HTS—carved out a fiefdom around the northern Syrian city of Idlib, cultivating a reputation for technocratic governance and willingness to engage with the West.

In doing so, Shara laid the groundwork for international support following the takeover of Syria. After he assumed the presidency, the West and the region adapted to him with shocking speed; the United States, the United Kingdom, and the UN Security Council each removed personal sanctions on him within weeks. In early 2025, Shara met President Donald Trump on the sidelines of a summit in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Months later, the new Syrian leader visited the White House, where Trump sprayed perfume on him and (perhaps undiplomatically) asked him how many wives he had.

America Didn’t Stop Shara from Attacking the Kurds

This behavior clearly conveyed the message that the Trump administration intended to do business with the new Syrian government, regarding the Rojava issue as an afterthought. All of this strengthened the new Syrian government in Damascus and left the SDF negotiating from a weaker, unequal position. On March 10, 2025, Damascus and the Kurdish-led SDF signed a framework to integrate the north-east into the Syrian state by the end of 2025, encompassing both civilian bodies and armed forces. Kurdish leaders asked for basic safeguards such as local self-administration, clear security guarantees, and protection from arrests and revenge attacks, but Damascus demanded full control and an end to independent Kurdish institutions.

Progress on implementing the agreement stalled through late 2025, as neither side fully trusted the other. In early January 2026, the simmering conflict exploded into open warfare after a high-level meeting between the SDF and Damascus on January 4 abruptly broke down. The next day, Syrian government forces began mobilizing, and fighting erupted around the Kurdish-majority districts of Sheikh Maqsoud and Ashrafiyeh. According to Reuters, more than 45,000 people were displaced from Aleppo as Kurdish civilians fled toward Afrin during clashes between the Syrian army and the SDF. During the clash, many civilians were killed, wounded, and tortured. Social media spread videos of Syrian army soldiers mutilating the bodies of dead Kurdish soldiers, which human rights organizations called a violation of international humanitarian law and the dignity of the dead.

After taking Aleppo’s Kurdish pockets, the Syrian military swept outward across Rojava. By mid-January 2026, it had overrun most of the autonomous region and taken over strategic cities like Raqqa and Deir ez-Zor, which Kurds had held since the fall of ISIS. With these victories, Damascus took control over crucial infrastructure, including the oil and gas fields, border crossings to Iraq, and ISIS detention camps.

The End of Rojava Could Have Consequences for America

This rapid capture, along with the human cost of the military attack, led the Kurdish leadership to desperately seek a way to stop the onslaught. Under intense international pressure, the two sides reached a truce on January 30—on favorable terms to Damascus, with the consent of the United States. According to the agreement, SDF personnel would be absorbed into the state defense and interior ministries as individuals, not as preserved units. Furthermore, all Kurdish-led civil institutions would be dissolved or integrated into the central government, essentially spelling the end of Rojava as an autonomous region.

Damascus and Ankara have each called the agreement a success, and Western nations have described it as a “historic step” toward a lasting Syrian peace. But for many Kurds in Rojava, the agreement has amounted to a humiliation. For more than a decade, the Kurds of eastern Syria fought and died against both ISIS and al-Qaeda-linked forces. That the new president of Syria rose from that world is doubly concerning. So far, Shara has said all of the right things, and earned plaudits from the West—but, as seen during the abortive rebellion in Syria’s western Latakia region in March 2025, he is more than capable of using brute force to bring his enemies to heel.

A similar concern ought to trouble policymakers in the West. Is it truly wise to dissolve the independent Kurdish army—which, after all, was the region’s most proven partner against ISIS—and to place its remnants under Shara’s government?

Many have argued that Washington’s policy with regard to Rojava amounts to abandonment. This would not be the first time, of course, that the United States used a local ally when needed, then abandoned it after receiving a better offer. But the lesson could be a sobering one. In the future, when the next Middle East crisis arises and the United States needs another local ally to help fight its enemies, who will trust it again?

Why Iran Isn’t Supporting ISIS-K

 


Iran has little interest in sponsoring a terrorist group that does not act in its interests in Central Asia and the Caucasus. 

Reports suggests that Iran may be using ISIS-Khorasan (ISIS-K) as a proxy to destabilize Azerbaijan. With the arrest last month of three individuals accused of plotting an attack on the Israeli embassy in Baku, after which it was revealed that the would-be perpetrators had conspired with ISIS-K to carry out the attack.

The Islamic Republic, the author argues, has good reason to support such acts of terrorism in Azerbaijan, owing to Baku’s close ties with Israel and the United States. 

While there is no denying the fact that ties between Tehran and Baku hit rock bottom over Iranian suspicions of Israel using Azeri airspace during the 12-Day War, Epstein omits some important facts that seriously undermine his case.

The major and indeed startling omission in his piece is that ISIS-K claimed responsibility for the double suicide bombing in the Iranian city of Kerman in early 2024, which resulted in the death of over 90 people.

This massacre occurred during the annual commemoration ceremony of the death of former IRGC commander Qassem Soleimani, marking the worst ever terrorist attack on Iranian soil since the establishment of the Islamic Republic.

What is all the more startling in Epstein’s omission of this incident is its Central Asian connection. Iran’s Ministry of Intelligence revealed that one of the suicide bombers was a Tajik national and that the mastermind of the attack was a Tajik national.

Since that incident, Tehran and Dushanbe have upgraded their security cooperation, culminating in a major deal inked in April 2025 to boost joint efforts against cross-border threats, including but not limited to organised terrorism.

Even prior to the Kerman massacre, shared concerns over terrorism appear to have brought the two countries closer together. After a period of soured relations related to the Islamic Republic’s alleged support for the outlawed Islamic Renaissance Party of Tajikistan (IRPT), the two nations reconciled in 2019, expressing their joint concern over the growing terrorist threat. This occurred precisely at the time when there was a notable uptick in ISIS-K attacks in Afghanistan, which shares a border with both Iran and Tajikistan.

That the two nations set aside differences as the ISIS-K threat was metastasizing leads to two important conclusions: that Tajikistan saw in Iran a valuable counterterrorism partner, which required a recalibration of bilateral ties; and that Iran, for its part, concluded that ISIS-K posed a significant enough threat to warrant this recalibration.

While Epstein tries to support his argument by citing earlier accusations by Tajik authorities linking Iran to a terrorist attack that killed four foreign cyclists in the Danghara district in 2018, for which ISIS claimed responsibility, he fails to mention the growing cooperation between Tehran and Dushanbe, which is driven largely by shared concerns over ISIS-K. 

This weakens the argument that Iran may be employing the services of ISIS-K in Azerbaijan, not least given that the latter—unlike Tajikistan—shares a border with Iran. By supporting ISIS-K terrorism in Azerbaijan, Iran would run the major risk of bringing more instability to its own doorstep; a scenario that simply doesn’t add up based on how Tehran upgraded its ties with Dushanbe against the backdrop of a morphing ISIS-K threat.

One could argue that Azerbaijan’s case differs from Tajikistan’s because of Baku’s close ties with Israel. Based on this logic, Tehran would be willing to take the risk of using ISIS as a proxy in Azerbaijan, if only to undermine Israeli war plans. 

This assumes that Iran perceives ISIS as a secondary and manageable threat. However, there is a good reason to believe that such an assessment is misplaced. Aside from the fact that ISIS is responsible for the worst-ever terror attack against the Islamic Republic, Iranian intelligence assessments released shortly after the twelve-day war identify “Takfiris” (ie, Salafi-Jihadi groups like ISIS) as a top security challenge, going as far as to warn of a threat emanating from post-Assad Syria.

Not only does this again refute the notion that Iran may risk a morphing ISIS right on its doorstep on the border with Azerbaijan, but it also refutes the argument that the 12-Day War may have led Iran to believe that ISIS poses a secondary threat compared to Israel, and that a marriage of convenience with ISIS in Azerbaijan is therefore a risk worth taking.  

Another important omission by Epstein relates to Iran’s ties with the Afghan Taliban. In explaining why Iran may be suspected of collaborating with ISIS-K in Azerbaijan, he refers to the improved ties between Tehran and Kabul on the basis that the Taliban is also a “Sunni group”.

What he fails to mention is that the two sides have drawn closer together because ISIS-K is a common enemy. For Iran, the Taliban is seen as the lesser of two evils compared to ISIS and its vehement anti-Shiism, in particular ISIS-K, which perpetrated the Kerman attacks. Taliban, meanwhile, perceives ISIS-K as a threat to its own rule and has frequently clashed with the terrorist group.

Therefore, Epstein’s argument that Iran’s cooperation with the Taliban makes it susceptible to cooperation with ISIS falls flat.

ISIS-K’s territorial ambitions in Iran are also missing in Epstein’s piece. The group derives its name from the historical region of Khorasan, which spans Afghanistan, parts of Pakistan, Central Asia, and Iran. Its project is to build a caliphate on these territories akin to the one that previously existed in parts of Iraq and Syria. This also helps explain the joint cooperation between Iran and countries like Afghanistan and Tajikistan against the group.

Based on the purported “sponsor-proxy” relationship between Iran and ISIS, Epstein calls for upgrading US ties with Azerbaijan, arguing that this is necessary to protect American interests in the Caucasus region, namely the “Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity,” an American-sponsored project linking southern Armenia to Turkey through Azerbaijan.

One of his recommendations is for an enhanced security and intelligence partnership between the United States, Israel, and Azerbaijan. Such measures could severely diminish the prospects of substantive progress in the nuclear talks between Washington and Tehran, all on the basis of unfounded suspicions. 


Can Ubuntu Survive in a Multipolar World Marked by Distrust?

 


The contemporary international system is moving toward multipolarity. The relative dominance of a single hegemon has given way to competitive coexistence among major centers of power, including the United States, China, the Russia, and the European Union. Alongside these actors, middle powers and regional blocs assert greater autonomy. This redistribution of influence does not automatically generate cooperation. Instead, it often amplifies distrust: technological decoupling, sanctions regimes, proxy conflicts, and strategic hedging have become normalized.

Within such an environment, Ubuntu—a relational philosophy grounded in interdependence, dignity, and shared humanity—appears vulnerable. Distrust thrives on suspicion and competitive self-preservation; Ubuntu thrives on reciprocity and mutual recognition. The tension is evident. The key question is whether Ubuntu can endure, adapt, or even shape a multipolar order structured by strategic anxiety.


1. Multipolarity and the Security Dilemma

Multipolar systems historically generate instability because intentions are difficult to interpret. In a bipolar system, adversaries monitor one another; in a unipolar system, dominance deters challengers. In multipolarity, miscalculation risk increases.

Military alliances such as NATO expand or reposition; rival coalitions consolidate; emerging powers pursue hedging strategies. Trust deficits deepen as states fear encirclement or technological dependency.

Ubuntu, centered on relational accountability, confronts this security dilemma directly. It posits that security is not achieved through isolation but through reinforced relational networks. However, survival concerns are powerful. States facing perceived existential threats prioritize deterrence over dialogue.

Thus, Ubuntu’s survival depends on whether distrust is permanent or episodic.


2. Distrust as Structural, Not Absolute

Distrust in multipolarity is often structural rather than civilizational. It arises from:

  • Power transition anxieties

  • Competition over critical technologies

  • Resource access concerns

  • Historical grievances

Even rival powers maintain deep economic interdependence. The United States and China, despite strategic rivalry, remain economically intertwined. Financial markets, supply chains, and technological ecosystems remain partially integrated.

This interdependence reveals a paradox: distrust coexists with necessity. Complete decoupling is economically costly and politically destabilizing.

Ubuntu’s relevance lies precisely here. It does not demand blind trust; it demands recognition of mutual vulnerability. In climate systems, pandemics, and financial contagion, distrust does not eliminate interdependence—it merely complicates governance.


3. Institutional Anchors and Their Limits

Institutions such as the United Nations provide formal mechanisms for cooperation. Yet the veto structure within the United Nations Security Council reflects entrenched hierarchy, often reinforcing paralysis rather than consensus.

Multipolar distrust weakens institutional credibility. Competing narratives accuse global institutions of bias or capture. Reform stagnation intensifies dissatisfaction among rising and developing powers.

Ubuntu’s survival requires institutional embedding. Without structural translation into diplomatic practice, it risks remaining rhetorical. For example:

  • Mediation frameworks that emphasize restorative dialogue

  • Trade agreements incorporating equitable dispute resolution

  • Regional peace mechanisms prioritizing reconciliation over punitive escalation

Regional bodies such as the African Union illustrate attempts to embed collective norms of solidarity and mediation. While imperfect, such institutions demonstrate that relational governance can operate within complex geopolitical landscapes.


4. The Role of Middle Powers

Multipolarity expands space for middle powers. Countries not classified as superpowers increasingly shape diplomatic outcomes through coalition-building and normative entrepreneurship.

Ubuntu may find its strongest advocates among such actors. Middle powers often prefer stability over confrontation and benefit from predictable multilateral frameworks. They can champion relational norms in:

  • Climate negotiations

  • Debt restructuring forums

  • Peace mediation processes

  • Digital governance dialogues

If Ubuntu becomes part of diplomatic vocabulary among coalition networks, it gains resilience even amid distrust between major rivals.


5. Crisis as Opportunity

Historically, systemic crises accelerate normative shifts. The Great Depression reshaped economic governance. World War II catalyzed the formation of multilateral institutions.

Today’s climate crisis presents a similar inflection point. Extreme weather events, food insecurity, and displacement pressures affect all poles of power. Distrust complicates burden-sharing, but ecological interdependence constrains unilateralism.

Ubuntu reframes climate action not as concession but as shared survival. High-emitting states cannot shield themselves from atmospheric consequences. Thus, relational accountability aligns with long-term national interest.

Pandemics provide another example. During COVID-19, vaccine nationalism undermined global containment. However, the crisis also exposed the limits of isolation. Global health security depends on collective infrastructure.

In such contexts, distrust may delay cooperation, but necessity compels it.


6. Can Ubuntu Withstand Strategic Competition?

The greatest threat to Ubuntu in a multipolar world is securitization of all domains. When economic policy, technology transfer, and cultural exchange are framed as zero-sum contests, relational discourse appears naïve.

Yet absolute distrust is unsustainable. Economic fragmentation increases inflationary pressure and supply instability. Technological bifurcation reduces interoperability. Persistent proxy conflicts drain resources.

Multipolar actors must balance rivalry with guardrails. Crisis communication channels, arms control agreements, and cyber norms demonstrate that even adversaries negotiate boundaries.

Ubuntu can survive if it informs these guardrails—not by erasing rivalry, but by constraining its excesses.


7. The Cultural Dimension

Multipolarity also involves narrative competition. Competing civilizational narratives seek legitimacy. Ubuntu, as an African-rooted relational ethic, contributes a non-Western philosophical perspective to global discourse.

In a world where distrust often stems from perceived ideological imposition, plural philosophical contributions enhance legitimacy. Ubuntu does not demand ideological conformity. It emphasizes dignity and interconnection across difference.

If articulated as universalizable rather than regionally confined, Ubuntu can contribute to a more plural normative environment.


8. Limits and Conditions for Survival

Ubuntu’s survival in a distrustful multipolar world depends on several conditions:

  1. Institutional Translation – embedding relational principles into treaties and governance mechanisms.

  2. Coalitional Advocacy – coordinated support from regional blocs and middle powers.

  3. Crisis-Driven Cooperation – leveraging shared threats to reinforce interdependence.

  4. Narrative Adaptation – framing Ubuntu not as moral idealism but as pragmatic risk management.

Absent these factors, Ubuntu risks marginalization amid hard-power competition.

However, complete erasure is unlikely. Interdependence is structural. Distrust may dominate rhetoric, but cooperation persists in practice because systemic collapse is mutually harmful.


Conclusion: Survival Through Adaptation

Ubuntu cannot eliminate distrust in a multipolar world. Nor can it override entrenched security dilemmas. Yet it does not require universal trust to survive. It requires recognition of mutual vulnerability and the institutionalization of relational accountability.

Multipolarity increases friction—but also pluralism. As no single pole dictates global norms, space opens for alternative philosophies to shape discourse.

Ubuntu’s endurance will depend on whether it is operationalized as a strategic ethic—integrated into conflict mediation, climate governance, economic reform, and digital cooperation.

Distrust defines the current moment.
Interdependence defines the structural reality.

If multipolar actors recognize that stability depends on relational responsibility, Ubuntu will not merely survive—it will quietly shape the guardrails of a fragmented yet interconnected world order.

Is Democracy Being Universalized as a Value—or Selectively Applied as a Foreign Policy Tool by the United States and the European Union?


The promotion of democracy has become a defining feature of Western foreign policy since the end of the Cold War. Both the United States and the European Union consistently articulate democracy, rule of law, and human rights as universal values. Official documents, strategic doctrines, development programs, and diplomatic engagements frame democratic governance not merely as a political system but as a normative global standard.

Yet critics argue that democracy promotion is not applied consistently. They contend that democratic principles are often subordinated to strategic interests—security alliances, energy access, trade partnerships, or geopolitical competition. This tension raises a central question: Is democracy genuinely being universalized as a value, or is it selectively instrumentalized as a foreign policy tool?

The answer is not binary. It involves both normative commitment and geopolitical calculation.


1. Democracy as a Universal Normative Framework

Following the Cold War, liberal democracy was widely presented as the endpoint of political development. The expansion of electoral governance across Eastern Europe and parts of Africa and Latin America reinforced the perception that democratic governance represented a universal aspiration.

Institutions such as the United Nations, the World Bank, and various transatlantic foundations began linking governance reforms to development financing. Election monitoring, judicial reform, anti-corruption measures, and civil society strengthening became standard components of development assistance.

The European Union formalized democracy promotion through accession criteria and neighborhood policies. States seeking membership or preferential agreements were required to demonstrate democratic compliance. Similarly, the United States institutionalized democracy promotion through agencies like USAID and public diplomacy initiatives.

From this perspective, democracy is framed as a universal good—associated with stability, prosperity, and peace.


2. Selectivity in Strategic Alliances

However, the practical application of democracy promotion reveals inconsistencies. Both the United States and the European Union maintain close strategic partnerships with governments whose democratic credentials are debated or limited.

For example, U.S. relationships with countries such as Saudi Arabia illustrate the tension between normative rhetoric and strategic interest. Security cooperation, energy considerations, and regional stability often outweigh democratic conditionality.

Similarly, the European Union has entered migration-control agreements and trade partnerships with governments in North Africa and elsewhere where democratic reforms remain incomplete.

These cases suggest that democracy promotion may be calibrated according to geopolitical priorities. Where strategic stakes are high—counterterrorism, energy security, great-power competition—democratic standards may be softened.


3. Interventionism and Regime Change

More controversial is the question of military intervention and regime change. The 2003 invasion of Iraq by a U.S.-led coalition was publicly justified in part through the language of democratization. The subsequent instability raised questions about whether democracy can be externally imposed through force.

Similarly, the 2011 intervention in Libya, supported by NATO members including the United States and European powers, was framed around humanitarian protection but was followed by prolonged political fragmentation.

These interventions fueled skepticism in parts of the Global South. Critics argue that when democracy promotion is associated with coercive regime change, it risks being perceived as strategic expansionism rather than principled advocacy.


4. Economic Interests and Democratic Conditionality

Trade agreements and development financing also reveal selective enforcement. Sanctions are sometimes imposed on governments accused of democratic backsliding, yet other states with similar governance challenges may avoid comparable measures due to economic interdependence.

For instance, strategic competition with China has influenced Western engagement strategies. In regions where Beijing has expanded infrastructure investment, Western governments may prioritize counterbalancing influence over strict democratic conditionality.

This raises the perception that democracy promotion may function partly as a geopolitical instrument within broader power competition.


5. The Security–Democracy Trade-Off

A recurring tension in foreign policy is the trade-off between short-term stability and long-term democratic transformation. Western policymakers sometimes justify support for semi-authoritarian regimes on the grounds that abrupt democratization could trigger instability, extremism, or conflict.

This pragmatic approach often leads to incremental reform strategies rather than maximalist demands. However, it can also entrench ruling elites who use security cooperation as leverage against external pressure.

The dilemma reflects structural realities: foreign policy operates within a system of competing priorities. Democracy promotion must compete with defense commitments, trade relations, and strategic deterrence objectives.


6. Internal Democratic Challenges

Another complicating factor is the internal health of Western democracies themselves. Political polarization, electoral disputes, populist movements, and institutional strain within the United States and several European countries have weakened the perceived moral authority of democracy promotion.

When democratic norms are contested domestically, external advocacy may appear inconsistent. Critics question whether democracy is being universalized or selectively defended when aligned with Western interests.

This dynamic complicates the narrative of democracy as a neutral global standard.


7. Normative Universalism vs. Geopolitical Realism

It is important to distinguish between two layers:

  1. Normative universalism: The belief that democratic governance, human rights, and rule of law are applicable to all societies.

  2. Geopolitical realism: The practice of foreign policy shaped by national interest and power calculations.

Both operate simultaneously. Western governments often genuinely believe in democratic values while also navigating strategic imperatives.

The tension does not necessarily imply bad faith. Rather, it reflects the structural reality that foreign policy rarely operates on pure idealism.


8. Perceptions in the Global South

In many developing regions, democracy promotion is viewed through the lens of historical experience. Colonial legacies, Cold War interventions, and economic conditionalities have shaped skepticism toward externally driven governance models.

When democratic standards are enforced unevenly, perceptions of double standards intensify. This can lead to resistance against what is seen as political conditionality tied to aid or trade.

At the same time, many civil society actors within developing countries actively seek international support for democratic reforms. External advocacy can strengthen domestic reform movements, provided it aligns with local legitimacy.


9. Is Selectivity Inevitable?

Given the complexity of global politics, some degree of selectivity may be unavoidable. States prioritize national interests; foreign policy is rarely purely moral.

The critical issue is transparency and consistency. If democratic values are invoked selectively without acknowledgment of strategic trade-offs, credibility erodes. Conversely, openly recognizing competing priorities while maintaining clear baseline standards may preserve normative coherence.


10. Toward a More Credible Democratic Universalism

If democracy is to be genuinely universalized rather than instrumentalized, several conditions are necessary:

  • Consistent application of democratic standards across allies and rivals.

  • Multilateral rather than unilateral approaches to governance advocacy.

  • Support for locally driven reform movements rather than imposed models.

  • Recognition of developmental and institutional constraints in emerging democracies.

  • Addressing democratic deficits within Western societies themselves.

Democracy cannot be convincingly promoted abroad if it appears fragile or selectively defended at home.


Conclusion: Value, Tool, or Both?

Democracy in Western foreign policy functions as both a universal value and, at times, a strategic instrument. The United States and the European Union articulate sincere normative commitments to democratic governance. Yet geopolitical realities, security interests, and economic considerations inevitably influence application.

The resulting tension produces perceptions of double standards. Whether democracy is seen as universal or instrumental depends largely on consistency, transparency, and alignment between rhetoric and action.

Ultimately, democracy’s global legitimacy will not be secured primarily through external promotion. It will endure where it demonstrates practical benefits—accountability, stability, economic opportunity—within societies themselves.

If democratic advocacy is to transcend the perception of selective application, it must be anchored in principled consistency rather than contingent convenience.

 

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