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rom the end of the World War II in 1945 until 2001, the United States was involved in 201 out of 248 armed conflicts around the world, according to data from Uppsala University in Sweden. These conflicts took place in 153 regions, the US was involved in about 81 percent of those.
These included wars in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya and Syria, among others. Beyond direct military involvement, the US has often interfered in the internal affairs of other countries. This includes supporting proxy wars, backing anti-government rebels, carrying out targeted assassinations, supplying weaponsand training armed groups.
Such actions have seriously disrupted the social and political stability of many nations. This widespread military activity is not accidental. It reflects a broad post-World War II strategy deeply connected to a form of neo-imperialism. This strategy is driven by the US military-industrial complex—a powerful network of defence contractors, politicians and military leaders.
President Dwight D Eisenhower famously warned about the dangers of this system in his farewell speech in 1961. Alongside this military-industrial system, US foreign policy has also been shaped by the influence of Zionism and other ideological interests. These forces continue to play a key role in shaping both American governments’ international behaviour and their domestic policies.
Despite its claims of promoting freedom, democracy and human rights—and despite spending vast amounts of money on its military—the US has rarely achieved the goals it sets in its foreign interventions. America epitomises and has stood for what George Orwell said in Nineteen Eighty-Four: “War is Peace, Freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength.”
Rather than being a force for peace and freedom, American unilateralism — the practice of acting without regard for international consensus or legal frameworks — has arguably become one of the greatest obstacles to global stability. Under this model, the US not only invades and occupies nations under the guise of spreading democracy, but also enables its allies, such as Israel, to act aggressively with impunity.
The consequences have been catastrophic: regime changes, wars, humanitarian crises and the undermining of sovereign governments. By many counts, the United States bears responsibility for the highest number of deaths and displacements in the post-war period.
The central question, then, is whether this model of unilateral dominance — which threatens democracy, human rights and international peace — can and should be replaced. Is it possible to envision a world order where every nation is free to develop in accordance with its own cultural, political and social values, without external imposition?
One possible alternative emerged in 2022, when China and Russia signed a joint declaration in Beijing promoting a multipolar world order based on mutual respect, sovereignty and non-intervention. While not without its own complications, this agreement symbolised a growing call for a global system not dictated by a single power, but shaped collectively by a diversity of voices. This idea — the search for a more just, pluralistic world order — is the central theme of this column.
The joint declaration by China and Russia signalled a bold recalibration of the global power structure. At its core, it rejected the longstanding dominance of the United States and argued for a shift toward a multipolar world, where power would be shared more evenly among nations. Both Moscow and Beijing portrayed themselves as champions of a new global order—one that was less reliant on liberal democratic ideals and more rooted in sovereignty and national values. “The world is undergoing profound changes unseen in a century,” the document suggested, positioning the alliance as a deliberate counterweight to what they viewed as an outdated, Western-led unipolar system.
A central theme in the declaration was the right of each nation to chart its own political path. The two countries pushed back against universal models of democracy, insisting instead on “democracy with local characteristics.” This framing served as a direct rebuttal to Western critiques of authoritarian governance in Russia and China. It not only defended their domestic systems but also posed a philosophical challenge to the idea that liberal democracy was the only legitimate form of government. “There is no one-size-fits-all model,” the document implied, reflecting a deep ideological rift with the West.
While affirming support for the United Nations and international law, Russia and China advocated for a reshaped global governance system—one that protected their interests and curtailed American influence. They opposed exclusive Western-led alliances and blocs, emphasising instead the importance of inclusivity. This was not a call to dismantle existing structures but to reform them in a way that would shift the balance of power. Their vision was not anti-global, but it was clearly anti-hegemonic.
Another key element was their prioritisation of development over Western-style human rights advocacy. By stressing poverty reduction, health care and climate action as primary goals, the declaration framed Western human rights policies as intrusive and politically motivated. This narrative resonated particularly in the Global South, where there was growing scepticism toward what many saw as “selective” human rights enforcement. The statement subtly linked such criticism to a form of neo-colonial control, asserting, in effect, that “development is the biggest human right.”
On the economic front, China and Russia aimed to strengthen their regional influence through closer integration of initiatives like the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU). This strategic coupling was designed to promote a more self-reliant Eurasian continent, less tethered to Western financial systems and security arrangements. It reflected a broader ambition to establish an alternative economic and geopolitical order—one that ran through, rather than around, the heart of Eurasia.
Their climate and technology positions showed a selective embrace of international norms. Both countries supported agreements like the Paris Climate Accord but resisted what they saw as “green protectionism”—use of environmental standards as barriers to trade. They framed their stance as pragmatic and fair, a way to prevent climate policy from becoming a new form of economic coercion. “We support climate action,” the message went, “but not at the expense of national growth.”
Security concerns also played a prominent role. The declaration voiced strong opposition to NATO expansion and the US Indo-Pacific Strategy. Alliances like AUKUS were criticised as destabilising and provocative. In presenting themselves as defenders of regional stability, China and Russia drew a stark contrast with what they portrayed as US-led militarism. It was a clear delineation and an attempt to legitimise their own military and strategic postures.
A similar logic underpinned their rejection of “colour revolutions” and externally supported regime changes. Such events, they argued, represented threats to national stability, not democratic progress. Framing these movements as foreign-backed interventions allowed them to paint domestic dissent as illegitimate and security-threatening, particularly when it originated from Western-supported civil society actors or opposition groups.
The statement also addressed nuclear policy and arms control. Russia and China criticised US withdrawals from key arms treaties and called for restraint. This rhetoric contrasted with their own ongoing investments in advanced military capabilities. It was a strategic balancing act—presenting a cooperative face while preparing for competition.
In the realm of health and science, the two countries stressed their commitment to evidence-based cooperation and criticised the politicisation of pandemic responses. This was clearly aimed at US allegations about the origins of Covid-19 and transparency lapses. By promoting their vaccine diplomacy and joint research, they sought to recast their pandemic narratives and position themselves as leaders in global health.
Their stance on space reflected a desire to regulate the militarisation of the final frontier. They advocated for legal frameworks to prevent the weaponistion of outer space—while continuing to build their own space capabilities. As in other areas, the message was one of regulated competition: Let’s set the rules—rules that happen to work in our favour.
(To be continued)
The writer is a professor in the Faculty of Liberal Arts at the Beaconhouse National University, Lahore.