The End of the Rules-Based Order: What Small Nations Must Learn from Ukraine, Taiwan, Israel, and Armenia

Introduction – A World Without Guarantees

Kharkiv, January 2022: A Ukrainian conscript stands guard in the pre-dawn cold, AKM in hand. He enlisted just weeks ago, comforted by his president’s assurances that NATO and the UN were watching over Ukraine’s fate. In his jacket pocket is a dog-eared copy of the 1994 Budapest Memorandum, the pact where Russia, Britain, and America swore to respect Ukraine’s borders if it disarmed its nukes. He believes treaties mean something. By spring, that belief will be buried under the rubble of his apartment block. When Russian missiles scream in and NATO’s promised shield stays a wish, he learns the harsh new reality: no one is coming.

For nearly 80 years after World War II, a U.S.-led “rules-based international order” promised that big fish wouldn’t simply eat little fish. Two pillars upheld this order: unrivaled American power, and a web of institutions, treaties, and norms meant to civilize global conduct. That order is now dead—even if Western leaders refuse to hold a funeral. In its place a jungle regrows, as Robert Kagan warned: “the historical norm has always been toward chaos – the jungle will grow back, if we let it”[1][2]. In 2019 John Mearsheimer grimly observed that the liberal international order was “destined to collapse because of its fundamental flaws,” with liberal excesses provoking nationalist backlash until the system failed[3]. We are now living that collapse. From Ukraine’s charred cities to Taiwanese chip fabs under threat, the lesson for small nations is the same: in a Darwinian world, power and preparation matter more than promises or ideals.

The West’s post-Cold War delusions are shattering. American strategists once dreamed that international law, democracy, and economic interdependence would tame geopolitics. They expanded NATO, signed trade deals, and issued security assurances, believing these “rules” were ironclad. But Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping never bought into that dream. They built armies, forged iron alliances, and waited. Today Russia openly redraws borders by force. China builds its own parallel international systems and threatens its neighbors with impunity. Authoritarian powers have effectively declared that might makes right again. And they are largely getting away with it, exposing the uncomfortable truth: global rules only exist if someone with real muscle enforces them. As a U.S. diplomat once said of America’s role, “the United States may be the only nation without which the global order cannot persist”[4]. Now, American will to uphold that order is faltering, and no one else is both able and willing to step in. The consequences are being felt in every corner of the world.

This long-form analysis is not about lamenting the “good old days” of U.S. hegemony—days that included their own injustices and hypocrisies. It’s about starkly assessing the new multipolar jungle and extracting survival lessons for small nations. We will journey through case studies—Ukraine, Taiwan, global institutions, Israel, Armenia—where the collapse of old certainties has forced nations to learn to survive on their own. Each illustrates a facet of a brutal new clarity: treaties and UN votes won’t save you; diplomacy may delay war, but only deterrence prevents it. In an anarchic world, small states face a choice: cling to nostalgic ideals, or adapt and arm for the real challenges ahead.

Robert Kagan titled his book The Jungle Grows Back for a reason. The civilized garden of international law needs constant weeding by a powerful gardener, or the jungle returns[1]. That gardener—the United States—is weary and retreating. International norms are withering from neglect and abuse. This leaves alert small nations with one rational approach: strategic realism. The narrative-driven sections that follow all point to the same conclusion: the post-WWII “rules-based order” is over, and those who survive in what comes next will be the cold-eyed realists—those who arm themselves, harden their societies, and make pragmatic alliances without illusions. As we proceed, consider this the field guide for what Ukraine’s soldiers, Taiwan’s hackers, Israel’s spies, and Armenia’s forlorn villagers have learned in the school of hard knocks.

The old rulebook is in flames. The new one is unwritten, but its first chapter will be titled “Trust in force, not in hope.” Let us turn the page, then, to see how we got here and what tomorrow’s survival demands.

From Hegemony to Multipolar Fragmentation

A. The Collapse of Unipolar Certainty

For a brief flicker of history—between 1991 and 2015—one nation towered over all others. The United States emerged from the Cold War as a unipolar giant, presiding over what seemed a new epoch of liberal triumph. Pundits spoke of “the end of history” and a perpetual peace secured by America’s military might and democratic ideals. Indeed, in those years the U.S. used its power liberally (and often for liberalism): pushing NATO ever eastward, policing global trade routes, toppling rogue regimes, intervening in humanitarian crises. It was a historical anomaly. As even America’s friends noted, nothing like the post-Cold War Pax Americana had ever existed – a solitary superpower enforcing a kind of global semi-peace. And it could not last.

Unipolarity bred hubris. Washington overreached, and the world noticed. The United States’ well-intentioned misuse of power in places like Iraq and Libya dealt grievous blows to the credibility of the “rules” it claimed to uphold. When the U.S. invaded Iraq in 2003 on dubious premises, without UN authorization, it signaled that might would trump international law when convenient for DC. The 2011 NATO intervention in Libya, sold as a humanitarian mission to stop massacres, morphed into regime change and chaos – causing countries like Russia and China to openly question Western motives. Meanwhile, the long quagmire in Afghanistan showed the limits of American resolve and competence. Each misstep eroded the aura of unipolar certainty and spread disillusionment globally. Allies quietly fretted; adversaries grew bold. By the mid-2010s, both Moscow and Beijing were prepared to challenge the U.S.-led order in earnest.

Vladimir Putin tested the waters first. In 2008, just months after NATO hinted that Ukraine and Georgia “will become members” eventually (but offered no timeline or defense pact)[5], Russia invaded Georgia, slicing off two regions. The Western response was tepid. In 2014, Putin seized Crimea from Ukraine – blatantly violating the Budapest Memorandum’s security assurances[6]. Again, the West balked at force, responding with sanctions and stern speeches but ruling out any military action to reverse the landgrab. If the post-Cold War order meant to forbid such conquests, no one effectively enforced the norm. Putin gleefully noted the mismatch between Western rhetoric and action. By the time he launched all-out war on Ukraine in 2022, it was clear he doubted NATO’s willingness to actually fight for non-members. The “liberal order” had, in his eyes, become a paper tiger: all roar, no bite.

In parallel, China undertook a patient undermining of U.S. dominance. Seeing Washington bogged down in Middle East wars, Beijing quietly built its economic and military sinews. It created new international institutions like the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB) and pushed its own trade pacts, crafting a parallel ecosystem of power outside Western control. Beijing and Moscow drew closer, coordinating votes in the UN Security Council to shield each other and presenting a united front against Western sanctions. The unipolar moment was ending not with an American victory lap, but with multipolar fragmentation – great powers carving the world into spheres of influence, and institutions bending to reflect raw power rather than universal principles.

No clearer acknowledgment of this shift exists than Mearsheimer’s blunt assessment in International Security: the liberal international order was “a failed enterprise with no future”[3]. In its place, he foresaw an emerging realist order where power blocs – a Chinese-led sphere, a U.S.-led sphere – coexist and compete, managing affairs within their domains. We are seeing this play out. The illusion that a single set of rules, backed by U.S. might, governs the world has been shattered. Instead, the world is “multipolar” and fragmented, with different rules in different neighborhoods. In Eastern Europe, brute force has redrawn borders. In East Asia, China builds its own trade and security architecture. In the Middle East, regional powers like Turkey and Iran pursue their interests with scant regard for Western preferences.

From the standpoint of small nations, this fragmentation is terrifying. In the old unipolar world, aligning with the U.S. or at least with international law offered some protection – if not absolute, at least your plight would get attention and possibly help. In the new world, every small nation is essentially on its own. They can appeal to this or that great power patron, or to the UN, but such appeals are increasingly transactional. The question in every crisis now is: Does some big power’s vital interest dictate saving this small nation? If not, expect statements of “grave concern” at best. As one poignant example: when Azerbaijan attacked Armenian-held Nagorno-Karabakh in 2020, the U.S., EU, and Russia – co-chairs of the OSCE peace process – all essentially shrugged, letting Azerbaijan’s military decide the outcome[7]. Neutrality by the supposed guarantors of norms sent a clear signal that wars of conquest might again be tolerated, at least in “far away countries of which we know little.” It is precisely this signal that opportunistic powers have been receiving loud and clear.

B. Beijing Thinks in Centuries

On a muggy day in Djibouti, a convoy of Chinese trucks rumbles through a shiny new port facility. Once a sleepy East African harbor, Doraleh port is now effectively run by a Chinese state-owned enterprise. Chinese security contractors guard the perimeter[8]. The locals whisper that even the Djiboutian authorities need permission to enter certain docks. What happened here? In short: Beijing’s long-game strategy. China financed and built the port, extended massive loans with generous terms (“don’t pay a dollar for years, just promise us access”), and when debt came due, gained operational control on a 99-year lease. It’s Hambantota all over again: in Sri Lanka, unable to repay Chinese loans, the government handed Beijing a 99-year lease to a strategic port in 2017[9]. Western officials cried “debt trap,” but the deal was done. As one observer quipped, “While Washington thinks in quarters, Beijing signs 99-year leases.”

That witticism captures a profound difference. China’s approach to world influence is not ideological evangelism; it’s imperial patience. Beijing thinks in centuries. The Chinese Communist Party plans for 2049 (the PRC’s 100th anniversary) and beyond, setting targets decades out. It offers infrastructure and loans under its Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) with payback schedules so extended that today’s officials signing the deals will be long dead when the bills come due. Poor nations, desperate for roads, bridges, and ports, find this alluring – no immediate strings, no lectures on human rights. By the time the loan balloons, China has typically entrenched itself: perhaps by taking equity in a port (like Hambantota[10]), or securing mining rights, or establishing a local military outpost (as in Djibouti). The brilliance of it (from Beijing’s view) is that control is gained without outright conquest. A port secured by a century-long lease is as good as a colony, but without the messy optics of invasion.

Consider how China methodically expanded its influence in the Horn of Africa. It invested billions in Ethiopia’s railways and factories, constructed Kenya’s mega-port in Mombasa, and built its first overseas military base in Djibouti. Each project was ostensibly “win-win development.” Yet, Chinese state-affiliated firms now operate over one-quarter of all African ports[11], and Chinese security firms protect growing assets on the continent[8]. This dual economic-military penetration creates leverage. If an African government displeases Beijing – say, by recognizing Taiwan or criticizing Chinese policies – they risk China calling in debts or even taking over critical infrastructure. It’s the Mafia don model: we helped you build this place; shame if something happened to it. And because China’s investments often come with non-interference pledges (no nagging about corruption or human rights), local elites often prefer them to Western aid, which arrives with a lecturing chorus.

Contrast this with Western engagement: U.S. and European aid usually demands reforms, comes in smaller trickles tied to election cycles, and can vanish with a change of administration. Western strategists think in 4-year election cycles or quarterly reports; Beijing strategists think in 30- or 100-year terms. Graham Allison, in Destined for War, notes that China’s rise is unprecedented in speed and scale, but also undergirded by a remarkably patient outlook[12]. Chinese leaders often invoke historical grievances from a century ago as if they happened yesterday, and likewise plan for reunification with Taiwan or dominance of the South China Sea as goals that may take decades – and that’s fine. They assume China will still be here, stronger each year, so time is on their side.

The result is that by the late 2010s, China had built a Sino-centric network rivaling the Western-led system. Through the BRI, it became the largest creditor to developing countries, particularly in Asia and Africa. It created institutions like the AIIB and New Development Bank (with BRICS partners) to lend without Western oversight. It established regional forums and summits (e.g. China-Africa Cooperation Forum) that exclude Western influence. In diplomacy, Beijing positioned itself as leader of the “Global South,” often coordinating voting blocs at the UN to support its positions or those of its allies. For instance, China (along with Russia) shields regimes like Syria or Myanmar from tough UN action, under the principle of non-interference. All of this undermines the notion of a universal rules-based order. Instead, there are now dueling orders: one led by the West (increasingly shaky), and one led by China/Russia (illiberal but ascendant in influence).

A vivid narrative crystallizes this. In a dusty East African village, a new Chinese-built highway runs past idle Western aid offices. The highway is part of a Beijing-funded mega-project; locals recall the fanfare when construction started – Chinese engineers and African ministers posing together. Down the road, a USAID billboard touts a “democracy strengthening initiative,” but the building behind it is shuttered, budget gone after the latest U.S. budget cut. The highway, though, is finished and already dotted with Chinese cargo trucks hauling minerals to port. Who earned goodwill here? The answer is obvious. Power, not preaching, earned influence.

It’s not that China faces no pushback. Its loans have led to debt crises, sparking resentment; some BRI projects are mired in accusations of corruption or poor quality. But from a strategic view, Beijing’s gains are undeniable: ports, railways, and telecom networks across Eurasia and Africa that it controls or can access at will. Meanwhile, the U.S. spent two decades (and trillions of dollars) fighting insurgencies in the Middle East, achieving dubious lasting gains. The opportunity cost was immense. While Washington was fixated elsewhere, China quietly built the world’s largest navy (by number of ships) and fortified islands in the South China Sea, creating military bases on disputed reefs. It engaged in the “largest military buildup” of the modern era[13] – adding hundreds of missiles, aircraft, and ships. By 2025, China’s navy surpassed 370 battle-ready ships, far outpacing the U.S. Navy’s 296 ships[14], and is on track for 400+ within years[15]. Beijing achieved local naval superiority in Asia without firing a shot, while America’s fleet struggled to even maintain its size.

For small nations, the rise of China as an alternative patron means they have choices—but also new perils. They can play the great powers against each other to some extent (as e.g. Cambodia or Hungary does, courting China to offset Western pressure). But if they miscalculate, they could become pawns or debt vassals. The lesson in this new context is: align with someone strong, but guard your sovereignty fiercely. The era when joining the UN and signing treaties guaranteed your survival is over. Now, you must consider who will actually stick their neck out for you in a crunch. And as China’s long-game shows, the real game is about hard power and infrastructure control.

A Chinese proverb says, “Dig the well before you are thirsty.” Beijing has dug many wells (and ports and roads) to secure its future influence. The West largely assumed the liberal order would water itself, and now finds wells running dry. Small nations must therefore emulate the foresight of thinking in decades: building domestic strength and nimble foreign policies to survive the coming storms. Those who assume someone else’s umbrella will always be there will find themselves drenched and alone.

Ukraine: The Death of Security Guarantees

Kharkiv, February 24, 2022: That same Ukrainian conscript we met earlier is now huddled in a crater on the outskirts of his city. He hasn’t slept in two days. The sky is orange with fire. In his trench are a motley crew of volunteers – a programmer, a gym teacher, a grandfather – clutching rifles from the Soviet era. Conspicuously missing are the modern weapons his government was once promised. “Hold on,” they were told, “the West is sending help.” And help did come – but weeks later, and carefully calibrated not to “provoke” Moscow too much. In those crucial early days, Ukraine’s survival hinged on its own people’s grit alone. The lesson is burned into the conscript’s mind like the smoldering ruins around him: paper guarantees mean nothing once the shooting starts.

Ukraine’s recent history is a case study in the failure of international security assurances. After the Soviet Union collapsed, Ukraine found itself in 1991 suddenly independent and holding the world’s third-largest nuclear arsenal. The U.S. and Russia were keen to prevent nuclear proliferation, so a grand bargain was struck: Ukraine would give up its nukes and join the Non-Proliferation Treaty as a non-nuclear state, and in return its sovereignty and borders would be “assured” by the major powers. The result was the 1994 Budapest Memorandum, signed by Russia, the U.S., and UK. It promised that no one would violate Ukraine’s territory or economic independence, and that if aggression occurred, the signatories would seek UN Security Council action. Importantly, these were “assurances” rather than absolute guarantees – a nuance largely lost on Ukrainians who optimistically regarded it as a de facto security guarantee[16][17]. As one protester’s sign bitterly summarized in 2022: “Ukraine gave up its nukes for this?”

We now know how hollow those assurances were. In 2014, Russia tore up the Memorandum by seizing Crimea and fomenting war in Donbas. The other guarantors, the U.S. and UK, protested diplomatically but pointed out the memorandum was not a binding defense treaty. Indeed, the Budapest Memorandum’s pledges lasted only 20 years before Russia violated them by force[6]. Ukraine was left essentially alone militarily. Western countries offered sanctions on Russia and some military aid to Kyiv, but notably in 2014, the Obama administration even declined to give Ukraine lethal weapons, fearing escalation. Putin faced no real deterrent. A red line had been crossed with impunity.

In hindsight, some analysts argue that not extending a firmer security guarantee to Ukraine (either via NATO membership or robust military aid pre-2022) was a fatal error. Mearsheimer and others have a controversial view that NATO’s eastward flirtations provoked Russia[3], but an opposite case can be made: NATO’s half-measure in 2008 – declaring Ukraine would join but providing no timeline or interim protection – was the worst of both worlds. It alarmed Moscow yet failed to actually secure Ukraine[18]. “Hesitation in 2008 and 2014 emboldened Russia” has become a common refrain in Western strategic debates. By showing neither a clear commitment to defend Ukraine nor a willingness to definitively close NATO’s door, the West left Ukraine in a dangerous gray zone. In that ambiguity, Putin saw opportunity. He wagered (correctly, initially) that the West would not directly fight for Ukraine.

When full-scale war erupted in 2022, the West did rally impressively with arms and aid – but crucially, only after Ukraine demonstrated its will to fight alone. In the frantic first week, many Western officials expected Kyiv to fall quickly. Reportedly, some offered President Zelenskyy evacuation; his retort became legend: “I need ammunition, not a ride.” Ukraine’s soldiers and citizens stopped the initial onslaught with virtually no foreign troops by their side. That feat of self-reliance shameed and then spurred the West into stepping up support. One Ukrainian officer later remarked, “If we hadn’t held those first 10 days by ourselves, there would be no point of any help arriving later.” His point: only a nation willing and ready to fight alone can convince others to help it fight together.

Another lesson from Ukraine’s ordeal is the value of preparation and deterrence versus diplomacy and hope. For years, Ukrainian leaders oscillated between seeking peace deals with Moscow and pleading for defensive weaponry from the West. In 2014-2015, Ukraine signed the Minsk accords, which froze the conflict but at the cost of effectively conceding some sovereignty in the east. Many viewed Minsk as buying time. Ukraine did use the interlude to rebuild its army somewhat, but it was slow and hampered by political turmoil. Come 2022, it still had glaring weaknesses (e.g., an air force outmatched by Russia’s, limited air defenses, old Soviet-era tanks). Some Western intelligence assessments thought Ukraine would crumble in days. They were wrong – mainly because they discounted the morale and ingenuity of a people fighting for their homeland. Ukrainian soldiers compensated for gaps by deploying creative tactics: using cheap drones to attack Russian armor, leveraging real-time intelligence from civilian IT groups, etc. Still, the toll has been devastating. Cities like Mariupol and Bakhmut are largely destroyed. The ultimate price of under-preparation was paid in blood.

As Ukrainian defense minister Oleksii Reznikov put it, “Diplomacy can delay war, but only a well-armed army can deter it.” Indeed, one of the starkest strategic lessons here is that nuclear weapons might have deterred Russia (we can’t know for sure, but the thought lingers). Ukraine had the technical capability to keep some of the Soviet nukes in 1994 but chose the high road of disarmament, putting faith in international law. After 2022, even some dovish analysts grimly concluded that Ukraine’s error was trusting security assurances over hard power. North Korea, by contrast, gleefully pointed out that it would never make such a mistake – a telling indicator of how global norms have eroded. In a world where the aggressors prosper, other nations may seek nuclear insurance, a nightmare for nonproliferation. Ukraine’s plight thus reverberates far beyond Europe: it signaled to every minor power that only serious deterrent capabilities (be it alliances with a superpower or indigenous arsenals) can guarantee survival.

Yet Ukraine also offers hope in another sense: it showed that a nation with grit and civilizational will to fight can surprise the world. The West’s eventual military aid (HIMARS rockets, anti-tank Javelins, advanced artillery) made a huge difference, but that support was earned by Ukraine’s refusal to submit early. This underscores a core survival lesson: fight for yourself first, and help may follow. If Ukraine had not resisted—if its government fled and army collapsed instantly—would foreign aid have flowed? Unlikely. Countries considering their own looming threats (say, Taiwan looking at China) have absorbed this example. In Taipei, civil society groups now run regular defense workshops, teaching civilians how to respond in an invasion; gun clubs and paramedic courses are oversubscribed. They know they must hold out on their own at least for some time, should the worst happen.

Finally, Ukraine’s experience teaches that appeals to global sympathy or morality are insufficient. President Zelenskyy became an icon, skillfully rallying world opinion with moral clarity. But even his stirring speeches did not stop some nations from hedging. Many developing countries abstained on UN resolutions condemning Russia, preferring not to alienate Moscow (or Beijing) for Ukraine’s sake. The UN Security Council, predictably, was paralyzed by Russia’s veto. It all reinforced the cold truth: in this “Darwinian” system, interests trump principles. Ukraine’s appeals to international law were legally sound but practically toothless until paired with battlefield successes.

In sum, Ukraine paid the ultimate price for the death of the rules-based order: it became the proving ground that when push comes to shove, might prevails unless met with might. The Budapest Memorandum turned out to be a polite piece of paper[6]; NATO’s open door turned out to be a revolving door that never quite swung open for Ukraine. And yet, through courage and resilience, Ukraine has also forced a reluctant West to awake from its end-of-history dream and confront the “jungle” reality[1]. Small nations watching this saga are drawing the necessary conclusions. As one Baltic official put it, “We trust in NATO, yes – but we trust more in our own rifles and our own plans.”

No more naive trust in unsigned security blankets; no more unilateral disarmament without ironclad protection. The age of hedging and rearming is here. Ukraine’s tragedy may ultimately be remembered not only as a warning, but as a catalyst that re-taught the free world a lesson it had forgotten: peace comes not from parchments, but from power.

Taiwan: Strategic Ambiguity in a Bipolar Trap

A thousand miles to the east of the Ukrainian steppe, another small democracy watches, learns, and arms itself feverishly. Taipei, Taiwan, 2025: In a repurposed factory on the city’s outskirts, a tech engineer demonstrates to students how to jury-rig commercial drones into aerial scouts and bomb-droppers. The students – programmers by day – absorb every word. They’ve all seen the footage from Ukraine of cheap drones halting a mighty army. They know in a showdown with China, they are the Ukrainian civilians, the last line of defense. Overhead, the whine of Chinese fighter jets occasionally intrudes; Beijing sends warplanes near daily to test Taiwan’s nerves. On the wall, a poster reads: “Be Ready – 沒有誰能代替我們保衛自己” (“No one can replace us in defending ourselves.”).

Taiwan exists in a bizarre geopolitical purgatory known as “strategic ambiguity.” For decades, the United States has deliberately left it unclear whether it would militarily defend Taiwan against a Chinese invasion. The idea was to deter both Beijing (from attacking) and Taipei (from declaring formal independence and provoking war). This policy kept an uneasy peace: China was never sure if attacking Taiwan might bring in U.S. forces, and Taiwan was never sure it could expect automatic U.S. rescue, so it trod carefully. But as China’s power grew, strategic ambiguity bred dangerous uncertainty rather than firm deterrence. In Beijing’s eyes, the U.S. might hesitate to intervene if costs are high; in some Washington war-gaming, indeed, U.S. victory in a war over Taiwan is no longer assured. The result: deterrence has eroded. China openly practices blockades and invasion drills around Taiwan now. And despite lofty rhetoric about support, the U.S. still debates issues like whether to ban TikTok, seemingly distracted, while China’s navy surges ahead.

On the ground, Taiwan is scrambling to upgrade from porcupine to saber-toothed tiger. In just the last few years, it has boosted defense spending dramatically, ordering new missile systems, drones, and fleet upgrades. It’s extending compulsory military service and training civilians in defense. President Tsai Ing-wen launched the concept of the “All-Out Defense” mobilization, calling for the entire society to be prepared for disruption. This includes stockpiling food, decentralizing critical infrastructure, and running regular air-raid drills – something not seen in Taiwan since the 1950s. The sense of urgency is palpable: polls show a sharp rise in Taiwanese people’s willingness to fight if attacked, especially after watching Ukraine’s example.

Yet, Taiwan also knows it cannot do it alone indefinitely. It needs external help to deter an attack in the first place. This is where the trap of bipolar rivalry comes in. The Taiwan issue sits at the crux of U.S.-China great power competition. For the U.S., Taiwan is a critical link in the “first island chain” that contains Chinese naval expansion, and it’s a vibrant democracy of 23 million people – abandoning it would shatter U.S. credibility. For China, Taiwan is a “renegade province” whose eventual unification with the mainland is a core nationalist goal; Xi Jinping has tied it to the “China Dream” of rejuvenation. Both sides have reasons they cannot easily back down. Ambiguity worked when China was relatively weak and cautious. Now China is powerful and increasingly impatient, while the U.S. public is war-weary and divided. A recipe for miscalculation is in the making.

Indeed, the last few years have seen multiple near-crises. In 2022, after the U.S. House Speaker visited Taipei in a show of support, Beijing erupted with unprecedented live-fire exercises encircling Taiwan – effectively rehearsing a blockade and assault. Missiles flew over Taipei; cyber attacks hit government sites. It was a demonstration that China could choke Taiwan at will, even if it wasn’t ready yet for an outright invasion. The U.S. responded by sailing aircraft carriers nearby and reaffirming that its commitment to Taiwan’s defense was “rock-solid.” But tellingly, it did not break ambiguity officially. President Biden has offhandedly said the U.S. would defend Taiwan if attacked, but each time White House staff walked it back, insisting policy hadn’t changed. This waffling has a cost: it unsettles the Taiwanese and emboldens China. When predator and prey both smell indecision, the risk of a fatal pounce increases.

Small wonder that prominent U.S. strategists are now debating ending ambiguity and moving to “strategic clarity” – an open pledge to defend Taiwan. They argue that clarity would strengthen deterrence by removing China’s hope that it could get away with an invasion[19]. Others worry that clarity might provoke the war it intends to prevent by cornering Beijing’s pride. Meanwhile, China keeps building up forces for a potential Taiwan campaign: amphibious assault ships, ballistic missiles designed to hit ships at sea (the “carrier-killers”), and a huge expansion of its rocket force that could bombard Taiwan’s bases and cities. The quantity of hardware China can bring to bear is staggering – dozens of new ships, thousands of missiles. As Hal Brands and Michael Beckley note, China’s military might and aggression toward Taiwan are record-breaking in modern times[13]. Xi Jinping has directly told the PLA to be ready by 2027 for a Taiwan scenario.

For Taiwan, every month of peace is precious time to prepare. It has studied Russia’s failures and Ukraine’s successes for applicable lessons. For instance, maintaining a domestic arms industry is crucial – Taiwan has accelerated projects to build its own submarines and mass-produce long-range cruise missiles that could strike Chinese bases. It is embracing asymmetry: instead of matching China tank-for-tank (impossible), it’s investing in mobile anti-ship missiles, fast attack craft, and air defenses that can survive initial strikes. Taiwan’s strategists often mention the “hedgehog” approach: make yourself so prickly that China bleeds badly if it tries to swallow you. Part of that is psychological too – convincing Beijing that an invasion would result in a protracted, bloody insurgency even if they took the cities. Given China’s reliance on conscripts and its one-child policy legacy (each casualty a family’s only son), the hope is the specter of heavy losses deters an adventure.

The Taiwan case illuminates a broader principle: in a post-American world, small nations near aggressive powers must create uncertainty in the aggressor’s mind about the cost of aggression. The old rule-based assurances (like the Taiwan Relations Act, a U.S. law committing to help Taiwan with arms) are helpful but not sufficient. Ultimately, Beijing must wake up every day unsure if today is the day Taiwan could, say, strike back decisively or if U.S. submarines are lurking ready to sink its fleet. Thus far, Beijing appears cautiously confident it can manage the U.S. risk – perhaps because of American domestic discord. U.S. indecision on smaller matters (e.g., will the U.S. even ban TikTok, a Chinese app, on security grounds?) sends a signal of lack of resolve. This is dangerous. Authoritarian leaders sniff weakness like sharks do blood.

Taiwan, more than anyone, understands that its fate may well be decided by others’ backbone as much as its own. That is a uniquely agonizing position: to be fully self-determined, it might need to formally declare independence (which likely triggers war), but to survive, it must also not be abandoned by distant allies. It is a classic bipolar trap – caught between two giants whose dance it can’t control, but whose moves will decide if it lives or dies. In such a trap, the best a small nation can do is radically improve its own odds. Taiwan’s approach has been to become what one U.S. admiral called a “porcupine unswallowable by the dragon.” Every anti-ship missile in a cave, every citizen trained as a medic or hacker, every semiconductor fab that the world relies on (making Taiwan valuable to others) – these are hedges against abandonment.

The island has another asset: a front-row seat to Hong Kong’s fate. Hong Kong was essentially left to Chinese mercy despite an international treaty guaranteeing its autonomy until 2047. Beijing shredded that pledge early, imposing a draconian security law in 2020. The world did little beyond rhetoric. To Taiwan, Hong Kong was a test case of the West’s willingness to confront China over a broken promise. The test results were discouraging. That further cemented Taiwanese resolve to never trust “one country, two systems” or any such hollow arrangements. Their freedom will be self-defended, or it will not be at all.

In the high-tech corridors of Hsinchu Science Park, where world-leading microchips are made, engineers whisper about “the Ukraine scenario.” Some have urged the government to establish a doomsday plan to sabotage the chip fabs if invasion is imminent – a kind of economic mutually assured destruction, since China’s tech industry depends heavily on Taiwanese chips. Again, deterrence thinking creeps in: make invasion so costly that it loses any appeal. It is a sobering sign of how even the economic integration that was supposed to keep peace (remember all those theories that trade would prevent war?) is now seen as another battleground or bargaining chip.

If Ukraine taught the lesson of fighting alone until help arrives, Taiwan is determined to not be caught as the next test of an alliance’s credibility. It is seeking clearer security commitments (some U.S. lawmakers talk of a Pacific defense pact or a lend-lease program for Taiwan). But whether those materialize or not, Taiwan will fight like hell regardless. As one Taiwanese reservist put it to a reporter: “The U.S. is our friend, but we are our own saviors.”

In a larger sense, Taiwan epitomizes the plight of all small democracies in the new era: strategically vital enough to be in the crosshairs of an ambitious authoritarian neighbor, yet not vital enough (in others’ eyes) to automatically guarantee rescue. Navigating this perilous tightrope requires diplomatic savvy (not provoking China unnecessarily, building partnerships with many countries), military strength (to make any attack a risky gamble), and social unity (so that an aggressor cannot exploit internal divisions or win without a fight). Taiwan is working on all three. Its story is unfinished, a crisis in slow motion. But one thing is clear: strategic ambiguity as a concept belongs to the old rules-based order – a luxury of a time when war over Taiwan seemed remote. In the coming Darwinian world, clarity and capability will matter far more. Taiwan is lighting the path for small nations: prepare alone, hope for help, but be ready to resist regardless. Ambiguity won’t save you; courage and strength just might.

The Hollowing of Global Institutions

In a stately chamber in Geneva, delegates applaud as a resolution passes. The United Nations Human Rights Council has just condemned Israel – again – for its policies in Palestinian territories. It’s the fourth time this year they’ve done so. A lone item on the agenda, “Human rights situation in X country,” seems to exist almost exclusively for Israel; egregious abuses in North Korea or Syria rarely get such attention. On the dais, the council’s vice-president, an ambassador from an authoritarian regime, smiles thinly. He represents a government that jails dissidents and tortures prisoners, yet here he sits as a judge of human rights. In fact, more than two-thirds of the Council’s members are non-democracies[20]. The very body meant to uphold human rights has, to a great extent, been captured by those who abuse them.

This tableau illustrates the tragic hollowing-out of global institutions. After WWII, institutions like the UN were designed by and largely for liberal democracies to codify certain values – peace, human rights, development. For a while, they functioned (imperfectly) as intended. But over time, as global power shifted and Western attention waned, authoritarian states learned to game the system. They realized that by organizing voting blocs and fielding their own candidates, they could subvert these institutions from within. The UN Human Rights Council (UNHRC) is a poster child. Countries like China, Cuba, Venezuela, and Russia have sat on the Council routinely. Iran – a theocracy that shoots protesters – was recently elected as chair of the UNHRC’s Social Forum on technology and human rights[21]. It would be darkly comedic if real lives weren’t at stake.

Consider the dynamics: dictatorships often back each other’s candidacies in these bodies (you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours). They form a defensive wall against critiques. When a vote comes, say, to investigate war crimes in Syria, authoritarian members band together to block or water it down. Meanwhile, they eagerly pass resolutions bludgeoning Israel – a favorite easy target given automatic majorities from non-aligned and Muslim-majority states. The result is an inversion of moral focus: the worse a regime’s human rights record, the more zeal it shows in highlighting someone else’s supposed abuses to deflect attention. Hillel Neuer of UN Watch famously likened electing China, Cuba and Russia to the Council as “making a gang of arsonists into the fire brigade”[22]. Indeed it is – foxes guarding the henhouse, to use another metaphor he employed[23].

It’s not just the Human Rights Council. The UN General Assembly has become a theater of absurd double standards. In 2024, out of 23 General Assembly resolutions criticizing specific countries, 17 targeted Israel alone – nearly 75%[24]. The rest of the world, including serial abusers, got a combined 6 resolutions[25]. To put that in perspective, there were zero GA resolutions on China’s mass detention of Uyghurs, or on Myanmar’s ethnic cleansing of Rohingya in recent years, but dozens on Israel. The General Assembly – where every nation, democratic or despotic, has an equal vote – has become a place where authoritarians use the weight of numbers to pass what amount to propaganda resolutions. They know there will be no enforcement anyway; the point is to isolate one state or shield another in the court of public opinion. Thus you see year after year a parade of condemnations of Israel (often for defending itself against rocket attacks), while, for example, no resolution ever named Hamas for using human shields or Iran for arming terrorists, etc. The selectivity is glaring. U.S. officials have decried this bias as a sign of moral bankruptcy in the UN system. As one State Department report noted, global institutions no longer protect law – they amplify power. The General Assembly, intended as the voice of “we the peoples,” is instead the voice of governments – many of them unaccountable to those peoples.

Worse, some parts of the UN are now actively tools of authoritarian influence. China has maneuvered its officials or proxies into top jobs in agencies like the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) and others, where they subtly push Chinese regulatory standards or stances favorable to Beijing. Russia held the rotating presidency of the Security Council even as it waged war in Ukraine – an Orwellian spectacle of a war criminal chairing meetings on peace and security. And consider the UN Security Council itself: designed to ensure great power buy-in, it’s now often a deadlock between Western members and a China-Russia axis vetoing anything that displeases them. On Syria, on Ukraine, on North Korea – meaningful action is blocked. Thus, a Syrian regime can use chemical weapons with only impotent UN chapter condemnations, because Russia says nyet to accountability. The Security Council, guardian of the peace, is toothless when one of its permanent members is the peace-breaker.

Even specialized agencies have seen hijacks. UNESCO (the UN’s cultural body) in 2011 was presided by a Chinese official who promoted Beijing’s line on internet governance and tried to downplay human rights in its agenda. The World Health Organization in early 2020 was criticized for echoing China’s misleading assurances about COVID-19, delaying the alarm – a reflection of China’s outsized influence there. The list goes on.

The decay isn’t entirely the authoritarians’ fault; it’s also benign neglect by democracies. During the 1990s and 2000s, Western powers perhaps grew complacent, assuming these institutions would always operate as originally idealized. But when the U.S. itself flouted the UN (like bypassing it to invade Iraq) or withdrew (as the Trump administration did from the Human Rights Council, calling it a “cesspool of bias”), it ceded ground for others to shape them. Illiberal regimes seized the chance to rewrite norms. They push concepts like “state sovereignty” and “non-interference” to thwart human rights scrutiny – conveniently justifying their own crackdowns as “internal matters.” They flood forums with resolutions that equate criticism of a government with “incitement” or try to police speech under the guise of cultural sensitivity. Bit by bit, the liberal normative edge is chipped away.

One stark example mentioned in the prompt: a UN Special Rapporteur named Francesca Albanese, tasked with investigating Israeli actions, has been accused of repeated antisemitic rhetoric and gross bias[26]. Instead of providing credible human rights monitoring, her role became a platform for propaganda: at one point she absurdly referred to Israel as “the Fourth Reich”[27], trivializing the Holocaust while demonizing the Jewish state. Such individuals getting appointed (and not removed despite protests) signals that the system’s self-correcting mechanisms are broken. When those meant to impartially uphold rights are themselves partisan or prejudiced, the moral authority of the institution crumbles.

Why does this matter in a “Darwinian” world analysis? Because small nations traditionally relied on international institutions as force-multipliers and shields. A weak country could appeal to the UN or international court for justice, or count on collective security principles, or count on multilateral treaties to constrain larger predators. But if those institutions are ineffective or co-opted, the weak lose an avenue of protection. When Armenia was attacked by Azerbaijan, for instance, it went to international bodies for help. It got statements of concern, maybe a UN resolution urging peace – and nothing concrete. Azerbaijan (backed by Turkey and unchecked by Russia or the West) simply ignored the calls. Armenia learned the UN won’t send blue helmets; OSCE observers came, noted the ceasefire breaches, and left. Global institutions have become forums for talk, not action, especially when an aggressor has a powerful patron or veto-wielding friend.

Another consequence is psychological: the narrative of a fair world order falls apart. People see that human rights talk at the UN is often hypocritical, that “international justice” only happens when geopolitics allow, not consistently. This breeds cynicism and the sense that one’s nation must look out for itself. Even citizens in democracies become disillusioned with these institutions, as seen in the U.S. and elsewhere (hence populist calls to defund or exit them). The less legitimacy these bodies have, the less restraining influence they exert on bad actors.

In essence, we now have bureaucracy as a weapon – to twist the next article’s teaser theme. Autocracies learned to use the West’s own creations against the West (and against liberal values). They did this quietly, through patient diplomacy and bloc voting, not tanks and missiles. It’s a 21st-century form of warfare: capture the narrative, seize the referee’s whistle in the global game.

What’s the takeaway for small nations? Be highly skeptical of international guarantees and forums. Participate in them, yes – you want your voice heard and to build coalitions. But do not rely on them for salvation. If you’re a threatened state, a UN resolution won’t save your village from being shelled. A court ruling in The Hague might award you moral victory, but without enforcement it’s Pyrrhic (ask the Philippines, which won a case against China’s sea claims, only to see China ignore it). The only quasi-exception is if you can align a broad coalition of major powers in your favor (like Kuwait did in 1991 when Iraq invaded – but that was under a very different U.S.-led order).

Thus, a savvy small nation now uses institutions instrumentally: if they help you, great; if not, bypass them. For example, Israel, fed up with UN bias, simply takes its case directly to individual allies and uses its own capabilities to protect itself (as we’ll see next). Taiwan, excluded from the UN by Chinese pressure, forms its own networks of support with like-minded countries. New informal groupings (regional alliances, ad-hoc coalitions like the Quad in Asia, etc.) are emerging to do what formal bodies can’t. This is part of the “multipolar fragmentation” – a shift to more localized or interest-based partnerships, rather than universal ones.

One might ask: can these global institutions be reformed or revived? Possibly, but only if democracies reassert leadership and invest political capital, which so far they have hesitated to do, especially when domestic issues loom larger. It may take a shock (like a war that directly involves more big powers) to force an overhaul. Until then, they limp on, half-zombie, still carrying the banner of ideals but too weak or compromised to enforce them.

In the meantime, the paradox is rich: We have more international institutions than ever, yet a less “international” order in the normative sense. Lots of meetings, summits, declarations – but fewer shared values or resolve. If the last era was about building global rules, this era is about surviving without them. As a cynical diplomat remarked, “The UN is effective at one thing: convening crises to discuss the crisis.”

The hollowing of institutions teaches small states a final sobering lesson: legality and legitimacy are separate from reality. You can win all the UN votes and court cases you want, but if an enemy has the guns and no scruples, you lose. Or in Hobbesian terms: “Covenants, without the sword, are but words.”[28] International law is a covenant; its sword was collective will. That sword is rusting in the sheath. We now turn to a nation that understood this early on and decided to wield its own sword without asking permission.

Israel: Deterrence Without Permission

The year is 2010. In the suburbs of Tehran, an Iranian nuclear scientist kisses his wife goodbye and gets into his car for the morning commute. He never makes it to the lab. A motorbike zooms up, a sticky bomb is slapped onto the car door, and boom – one less physicist working on Iran’s nuclear program. Over the next two years, four Iranian nuclear scientists are assassinated in similar fashion. No one officially takes credit, but the world’s intelligence agencies and media have little doubt: Mossad, Israel’s famed secret service, is at work. At the same time, a mysterious computer worm called Stuxnet is wreaking havoc at Iran’s Natanz uranium enrichment facility. Centrifuges spin out of control and self-destruct – about 1,000 of them – setting Iran’s program back by years[29]. Again, no one is openly claiming responsibility, but reports reveal it was a joint U.S.-Israeli cyber operation[29], the first cyberweapon to physically destroy another nation’s infrastructure. The world might quietly applaud preventing a nuclear Iran, but officially, these acts are condemned as illegal. Yet Israel calculates it cannot afford to care about the official noise. It has bought itself time – without asking anyone’s permission.

Israel offers a masterclass in unilateral realism. A tiny country in a hostile neighborhood, it long ago shed any illusions that international institutions or even superpower allies would secure its existence. From its birth, surrounded by enemies rejecting its right to exist, Israel learned it must be ready to defend itself, by itself, every single day. The 1967 Six-Day War, waged largely alone, and the 1973 Yom Kippur War, where U.S. aid arrived only after Israel suffered heavily, reinforced a culture of self-reliance. The world’s sympathy after the Holocaust dissipated quickly into realpolitik. And so Israel adopted a doctrine often summarized as: no existential threats tolerated, act pre-emptively if necessary. The world might not like its methods, but as an Israeli official once said, “Better a condemnatory resolution than a eulogy.”

The most famous example of Israel’s lone-wolf deterrence was the 1981 airstrike on Iraq’s Osirak nuclear reactor. Saddam Hussein’s regime was nearing completion of a reactor that Israel believed was designed to produce weapons-grade plutonium. Diplomacy and international pressure had failed to stop it. So, in June 1981, Israeli jets flew a daring long-range mission and blew the reactor to smithereens. The immediate reaction was global outrage – even the U.S. voted for a UN Security Council resolution condemning Israel[30]. Yet years later, as Saddam in 1990 invaded Kuwait and threatened the region, many came to privately acknowledge Israel’s strike prevented a nuclear-armed Iraq. It had changed the course of history, at the cost of opprobrium. Israel deemed that worth it. This set a precedent known as the “Begin Doctrine” (after Prime Minister Menachem Begin): Israel will not allow hostile states to acquire nuclear weapons, period.

Fast forward to the 2000s and 2010s. Iran’s nuclear ambitions become Israel’s foremost security concern. Diplomacy drags on; sanctions hit Iran but don’t stop its uranium enrichment. Israel watches as world powers negotiate (the 2015 JCPOA accord) but remains skeptical it will really dismantle Iran’s program. Throughout, Israeli intelligence runs a shadow war: aside from Stuxnet and assassinations, they reportedly sabotage facilities (mysterious explosions and fires have struck Iranian nuclear sites and missile factories over the years), and they cultivate extensive espionage networks. In 2018, Mossad pulled off a heist straight out of Hollywood – stealing half a ton of secret nuclear archives from the heart of Tehran and flying them to Tel Aviv. The documents proved Iran had worked on bomb designs, vindicating some of Israel’s warnings. Again, no one else could or would have done that. It was a national effort driven by a “do whatever it takes” ethos.

Israel also repeatedly struck Syria and Sudan to interdict arms bound for Hezbollah or Hamas. In 2007, it secretly bombed a Syrian nuclear reactor under construction (Operation Orchard), with North Korean assistance, catching the world by surprise when it was revealed. The U.S. had hesitated on how to handle that intelligence; Israel just acted. And beyond nuclear/preventive strikes, Israel maintains a posture of aggressive deterrence against immediate threats. In Gaza, when rocket fire becomes unbearable, Israel launches major operations to restore deterrence, despite inevitable UN condemnation and media scrutiny. The civilian toll is tragic in such asymmetrical fights, but from Israel’s perspective, inaction is worse if it means enemies think Israel has lost its bite.

“The West lost its taste for war; Israel never did,” goes a grim joke. It reflects the reality that Western publics have grown casualty-averse and constrained by moral qualms, whereas Israel, though certainly not bloodthirsty, accepts that sometimes force must be used, even without international blessing. Israelis serve compulsory military service; society remains on a quasi-wartime footing always. This creates a mindset foreign to more comfortable nations. A senior Israeli official once put it to a European counterpart: “You live in Nice; we live in Sderot.” (Sderot is a town frequently hit by rockets from Gaza). The implication: your lectures on restraint ring hollow when your citizens aren’t the ones under fire daily.

Crucially, Israel’s actions, however unilateral, are underpinned by a strategy of deterrence. They are not wanton or random; they aim to instill in enemies a belief that Israel will retaliate tenfold for aggression and preempt emerging threats before they mature. It’s classic “deterrence by punishment and denial”: punish the bad actors (like assassinating key nuclear scientists to discourage others) and deny them capabilities (blowing up reactors, convoys). This strategy has been remarkably effective at times. It likely delayed Iran’s nuclear timeline significantly – some estimate by a decade or more. It keeps Hezbollah cautious; despite having an arsenal of missiles, Hezbollah hasn’t provoked a full war since 2006 because that war hurt Lebanon badly under Israeli bombardment, and they know Israel will do it again if pushed.

Israel also leverages unpredictability. Neighbors know Israel’s red lines but also that Israel might strike out of the blue if it feels threatened. This creates an aura of “the crazy guy in the neighborhood – better not mess with him.” Yet ironically, Israel is quite calculated, not crazy. It chooses targets carefully to avoid all-out regional war (so far). It operates in the shadows to give foes face-saving deniability. And it coordinates tacitly with big powers when possible (even its 1981 strike, while officially condemned by Washington, was not punished severely behind the scenes).

What about international law and norms? Israel’s view could be summed up as: Our existence is at stake; legal idealism is secondary. They would point to the UN’s failure to protect Israel in the past or to fairly arbitrate its conflicts. Surrounded by states that refused to even recognize it for decades, Israel understandably felt that deterrence without permission was the only realistic path. Do first, explain (or don’t) later. If an Israeli action staves off a new Holocaust scenario (e.g., a nuclear attack), history will forgive it even if the present doesn’t.

This doesn’t mean Israel doesn’t seek alliances or approval where it can. In fact, a hallmark of its strategy is pairing independence with alliance-making. It values its partnership with the United States above all – the one country that consistently vetoes the worst UN measures against it and supplies it with advanced weapons. But even with the U.S., Israel doesn’t ask permission for every move (as seen in 1981 Iraq strike – it informed Washington after the fact). This can cause friction. During the Obama years, Israel reportedly came close to striking Iran outright, but the U.S. pressured it not to, promising sanctions and diplomacy would suffice. Netanyahu bristled but pulled back for the time being. Yet he also kept Mossad’s covert campaign running. Israeli leaders across the spectrum hold that ultimately, Israel will do what it must, even if alone[31]. Netanyahu often said, “If Israel is forced to stand alone, it will stand alone”[32]. And as recent as 2025, he warned again that Israel is prepared to act by itself to prevent an Iranian nuclear bomb[31].

Israel’s approach, while perhaps unique in scale, resonates with other small states’ survival strategies. It says: international norms are nice, but survival is non-negotiable. If the world won’t act, we will. In a collapsing rules-based order, many nations quietly envy Israel’s capability to do that. Gulf Arab states, once Israel’s foes, now find common cause with it against Iran – partly because they know Israel will actually do something about Iran if push comes to shove. That credibility earned through action has given Israel surprising new diplomatic openings (e.g., normalization with UAE, Bahrain via the Abraham Accords). These Sunni states basically decided that siding with a strong, determined Israel is safer than relying on fickle Western security guarantees. Again, power and proven resolve attract partners more than ideals do in today’s world.

However, Israel’s unilateralism also has costs. It has deepened its pariah status in some international fora. It faces accusations (some justified, some exaggerated) of violating international law. It can lead to cycles of escalation – e.g., assassinating scientists can spur Iran to retaliate via proxies, which then leads to further Israeli strikes. Living by the sword means permanent vigilance and risk. But Israelis often counter: we live in a permanent state of risk regardless; better to manage it on our terms. And indeed, Israel has thus far managed to avoid the worst-case scenario of a nuclear-armed adversary or multi-front war it can’t handle. It walks a tightrope, but so far with balance.

One more narrative from 2020 encapsulates Israel’s ethos. A senior Mossad operative stands on a rooftop in Tehran at dawn, watching an explosion bloom at a warehouse below – a warehouse that secretly stored key components for nuclear centrifuges. Mission accomplished. As his team exfiltrates, news of the blast will soon hit airwaves. Iran will blame “Zionist sabotage.” UN officials will call for “restraint on all sides.” But by the time inspectors arrive, the evidence is literal smoke and rubble. Israel’s action will never be publicly admitted, but its impact will be very real. That operative, as he boards an unmarked helicopter, muses that he’ll probably never get credit or thanks internationally. But he doesn’t do it for thanks. He does it so that his children, back home in Tel Aviv, won’t have to live in the shadow of an Iranian nuke. That is deterrence without permission in a nutshell: doing what is necessary, accolades be damned.

For small nations, Israel’s experience underscores that strength earns safety more than sympathy does. The world might condemn you in the halls of the UN, but quietly many respect decisive moves. At the end of the day, every country’s duty is to its own people’s security. Israel takes that duty to its absolute extreme – arguably out of sheer necessity given history. Others may not need to go as far, but the principle stands: be ready to stand alone, and ironically, you’ll never be truly alone (because strength draws others to support you, or at least think twice before crossing you). In the jungle, even the small must roar like lions if they want to survive. No one grasps that better than Israel.

Armenia: The Price of Trusting the West

In a small stone church in southern Armenia, candles flicker as villagers gather their belongings to flee. It’s late 2023, and the enclave of Nagorno-Karabakh – home to ethnic Armenians for generations – has fallen to Azerbaijani forces after a lightning offensive. Outside, the thump of Azerbaijani drones still echoes; the very sky that once seemed to watch over them is now a source of death. An elderly man looks to the heavens and asks bitterly: “Where is everyone? Where is Russia? Where is Europe? Why have we been forsaken?” There is no answer, only the distant hum of a Turkish-made Bayraktar TB2 drone that has already done its lethal work, hovering like a silent judge.

Armenia’s tragedy is a textbook case of misplaced faith in the international community. For years, Armenia relied on a diplomatic process – the OSCE Minsk Group co-chaired by France, Russia, and the U.S. – to resolve the Nagorno-Karabakh dispute with Azerbaijan. Armenian leaders believed that with such great powers mediating, full-scale war could be averted and their kinsmen in Karabakh protected. In 2020, that illusion was shattered. Oil-rich Azerbaijan, having built up a formidable modern military (funded by petro-dollars and equipped by Turkey, Israel, and Russia ironically), launched a surprise offensive to retake territories lost in the 1990s war. Armed drones, loitering munitions, and precision rockets rained down on Armenian positions, obliterating their outdated tanks and shattering defenses[33][34]. The Armenian forces, courageous but outmatched, crumbled in 44 days. Over 6,500 people died, 100,000 Armenians were displaced from lands their families had inhabited for a century[35].

What did the “guarantors” of peace do? The United States and France expressed concern, maybe imposed an arms embargo on Azerbaijan (too late). Russia, which Armenia considered an ally through a defense pact (CSTO) and which had a military base in Armenia, largely stayed neutral – some say because it had tacitly agreed with Turkey to divide influence, others because it was distracted and didn’t want to alienate Azerbaijan (or Turkey). The OSCE process was exposed as a paper tiger – when one side decided to use war to settle the conflict, the mediators were caught flat-footed[36]. None of the countries in the Minsk Group had the will to intervene or penalize Azerbaijan effectively. This “clear signal of neutrality” by the major powers in face of aggression did not go unnoticed by others, including Putin (who may have read it as a license for his own plans)[37][36].

Armenia’s government, led by a reformist Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan (who came to power in 2018’s democratic “Velvet Revolution”), had bet that pivoting West and highlighting shared democratic values would rally support. Indeed, Pashinyan received much Western praise for domestic reforms. But when war came, those democratic credentials didn’t translate into military aid or boots on the ground. Western leaders gave stern statements at the UN, and some humanitarian aid after, but effectively let Azerbaijan and Turkey run the show. It was a harsh awakening: moral narratives collapse when drones fill the skies. High-minded talk of human rights meant little to the Azeri TB2 operator locking onto a target, or to the Israeli-built Harop “kamikaze” drone diving onto an Armenian artillery position[38][39]. Modern warfare technology, combined with old-fashioned willingness to use force, trumped decades of negotiations and UN resolutions.

After 2020, Russia did broker a ceasefire, deploying peacekeepers in rump Karabakh. But in 2022-2023, emboldened by the world’s focus on Ukraine (and arguably by seeing Russia tied down there), Azerbaijan tightened the noose – blockading the Lachin corridor (Karabakh’s lifeline to Armenia), starving the population. Appeals to international courts and the UN to lift the blockade were ignored by Baku. Finally, in September 2023, Azerbaijan struck again, overruning what remained of Karabakh in 24 hours. Over 100,000 Armenians fled en masse – the largest ethnic cleansing in Europe’s vicinity in recent memory. Pashinyan labeled it a “direct act of ethnic cleansing”[40], and indeed the ancient Armenian presence in that region was erased virtually overnight.

The fallout for Armenia was immense. It felt betrayed by Russia (its supposed protector) – Moscow’s peacekeepers stood by and did nothing as Azerbaijan broke the ceasefire. It felt let down by the West – European monitors on the Armenia-Azerbaijan border watched incursions but had no mandate to stop anything; the EU and U.S. imposed no real costs on Azerbaijan for its aggression. Why? Geopolitics: Europe buys Azerbaijani gas (to substitute for Russian gas), and Western diplomats perhaps quietly deemed Nagorno-Karabakh a hopeless cause not worth a confrontation when so much else was burning. As for Russia, it was likely content to see Pashinyan (whom it viewed as too pro-Western) humiliated, even if it meant Armenians suffering. Thus do small nations become playthings. Armenia learned that even formal alliances (CSTO) can be useless if your ally’s interests don’t align at the moment of truth.

This is a bitter pill: trusting external security guarantees – whether Western or Russian – cost Armenia dearly. In retrospect, could Armenia have done more on its own? Possibly: it could have invested in better air defense and drones, seeing what was coming. It could have tried a more flexible diplomatic stance earlier to avoid giving Azerbaijan the pretext for war. But those are what-ifs. The core lesson is akin to Ukraine’s: hope is not a strategy. Armenia hoped international mediation would suffice and that Russia’s deterrence would hold. Azerbaijan, meanwhile, prepared: it built an army with force, patience, and preparation, aligning with stronger allies (Turkey, and tacitly Israel) and waited for an opportune moment. When it struck, it achieved in weeks what negotiations failed to in decades.

Armenia’s experience also underscores the declining efficacy of moral arguments. Armenians around the world cried out that another genocide might be looming. They invoked the memory of 1915 when Ottomans massacred Armenians. But realpolitik prevailed over “Never Again” sloganeering. Turkey’s strategic weight (as NATO’s bridge to Central Asia, as a drone powerhouse, etc.) meant few wanted to confront it over backing Azerbaijan. Israel, usually aligned with Western democracies, nonetheless armed Azerbaijan because Azerbaijan offered oil and a strategic foothold against Iran[41][42]. The UAE and others similarly favored Azerbaijan’s side. This coalition of interests vastly outweighed Armenia’s pleas based on justice or historical grievance.

One striking image: Nancy Pelosi, then Speaker of the U.S. House, visited Armenia after Azerbaijan’s 2022 cross-border attacks on Armenia proper (not just Karabakh). She condemned Azerbaijan’s aggression. Armenians cheered her words, seeing a glimmer that the West might intervene. But words did not translate into deeds. No sanctions, no military aid came that could alter the balance. It was a stark example of the limits of Western moral support when unaccompanied by concrete action[43].

Armenia is now reorienting its survival strategy. Disillusioned with Russia, it’s inching toward the West – perhaps hoping if integrated (say, with the EU someday), it would deter future attacks. But even that is uncertain; Azerbaijan, flush with victory, might try to press advantage on other disputed border areas. Armenia is also trying to rapidly reform and strengthen its own army, but its resources are limited. Ultimately, Armenia might seek a balance of aligning but not relying: keep ties with multiple powers (Russia, Iran, West) to avoid total abandonment by all. It’s a tough act.

For other small nations, Armenia’s saga is a cautionary tale: if you bank on someone else’s promise instead of your own preparedness, you may pay a fatal price. Security pacts are only as good as the interests behind them at any given moment. If circumstances change (say, your ally is busy with another war, or you’ve drifted politically), those promises can ring hollow. Armenia had paper guarantees (like CSTO’s mutual defense clause) but when Azerbaijani drones darkened the skies, not a single ally’s soldier came[36]. The only “cavalry” was Armenian volunteers rushing to the front in pickup trucks, facing high-tech weapons with valor alone.

Also instructive is the role of technology: Azerbaijan’s use of drones was a game-changer, earning them a decisive edge at low cost[33][44]. This suggests small nations should invest in force multipliers like drones, cyber, precision missiles – the kind of tools that can offset a larger enemy’s numbers. Off-the-shelf drones turned out to nullify much of Armenia’s traditional armor and artillery. In modern warfare, quality and innovation beat quantity, especially if your opponent is stuck with legacy systems.

Finally, the psychological blow to Armenia’s populace cannot be ignored. They watched as the world simply moved on after Nagorno-Karabakh fell. This breeds a fatalism that can be dangerous – some Armenians now say, “we only have ourselves, no one else will ever help.” That can spur a healthy self-reliance, but also despair. Leaders of small nations must harness such sentiments carefully: use them to galvanize internal reform and strength, rather than sink into victimhood. Pashinyan, to his credit, seems to be channeling it into a kind of “Armenia will become strong on its own terms” message, but his domestic critics accuse him of naivety and even treason for trusting the West at all.

In conclusion, Armenia’s ordeal encapsulates a core theme of this essay: the collapse of the old order leaves the weak to fend largely for themselves. Treaties, peace processes, and moral victories at the UN mean little if not backed by might. Armenia’s foreign minister perhaps said it best in a moment of candor: “We were told the world would not allow ethnic cleansing in 2023. We believed that. We were wrong.” It’s a heart-wrenching admission that in this Darwinian turn of world affairs, even basic norms like preventing ethnic cleansing are not guaranteed unless someone with power cares enough to enforce them.

Armenia trusted; Armenia lost. The price is etched in abandoned homes, lost lives, and an ancient community uprooted. For other small states, the message couldn’t be clearer: build your defenses, nurture alliances but expect nothing, and never entrust your survival entirely to the hands of others. The cavalry isn’t coming – you are the cavalry.

Conclusion – What Survival Looks Like Now

A Ukrainian soldier, a Taiwanese hacker, an Israeli spy, an Armenian villager – these disparate figures share a grim understanding forged in the flames of the new world disorder: the post-WWII rules-based order is not dying; it’s dead. The quaint idea that international law, institutions, or distant great power guarantees will shield the vulnerable has been interred in Mariupol’s ruins, Taiwan’s uncertainty, Israel’s lone operations, and Armenia’s exodus. What replaces that order is not pure chaos but a brutal clarity: a world where each nation truly lives on its wits and will. The fog of comforting illusion has burned off, revealing a Darwinian landscape beneath.

Survival in this environment does not mean abandoning all cooperation or morality. It means anchoring on reality. And reality says: global “rules” exist only if someone strong enforces them, alliances hold only as long as interests align, and aggressors will be deterred only by superior power or the credible threat of it. Small nations must therefore undertake a great mental rearmament. They must think like survivalists in a wild terrain, not like citizens of a safe rule-bound garden (for the garden’s fence has fallen).

What does survival look like now? First and foremost, it looks like self-help. Every case study we explored underscores that nations must build the capacity to defend their own sovereignty. This means investing in hard defense capabilities: weapons, technology, citizen training, cyber resilience, etc. Defense capability is the bedrock – without it, pleas for help ring hollow or arrive too late. As the old Latin proverb goes, si vis pacem, para bellum (“if you want peace, prepare for war”). Ukraine’s renewed independence, Taiwan’s continued de facto autonomy, Israel’s very existence, even Armenia’s chance to live another day – all hinge on how well they prepare for the next threat.

Next, civil resilience becomes crucial. Modern conflict targets societies, not just armies. Thus, nations must cultivate unity, adaptability, and the will to endure hardships. Ukraine’s ability to absorb Russia’s blows owed much to a unified identity and social resolve – civilians supporting the war effort, adapting businesses to conflict needs, maintaining morale under bombardment. Taiwan is similarly fostering a resilient society that could keep functioning under blockade or cyber onslaught. Israel has long knitted a high-resilience society through drills, public education, and a culture that treats each citizen as a first responder in crises. Armenia’s society, too, showed remarkable cohesion in adversity; though defeated, it didn’t disintegrate. In a world where adversaries might cut power grids or spread disinformation to break a nation’s will, a prepared populace is as vital as prepared soldiers.

Third, foreign policy independence is key. Small states can no longer put all eggs in one patron’s basket and call it a day. The U.S. umbrella is not automatic; the Russia umbrella turned out to be made of paper; China’s offers come with strings. Therefore, nimble diplomacy is needed – engaging multiple powers, forming regional alliances, participating in new groupings that address specific needs (like energy security, intelligence sharing, etc.). Think of it as diversifying survival tools: a nation wants a toolkit of relationships so that if one fails, others can fill gaps. This also means not antagonizing potential friends unnecessarily – pragmatic engagement over ideological alignment. During the Cold War, being in one camp offered clarity of support. In today’s more fluid multipolar world, hedging and balancing are back in play for small states, much as they were in older multipolar eras.

Fourth, nations should leverage any unique assets they have to increase their strategic value to others. For example, Taiwan’s semiconductor industry isn’t just an economic engine; it’s a geopolitical lever – the world needs its chips, which subtly increases global incentive to prevent its destruction (the “Silicon Shield” concept). Ukraine’s agricultural exports make it important to global food security – giving Europe and others a stake in its stability. Israel turned itself into a tech and cyber powerhouse – now even countries that don’t love its politics find it useful (selling drones to Azerbaijan or cyber tools to various states). Armenia has fewer such cards, but perhaps its diaspora and location as a corridor between Iran and Eurasia could be leveraged. The point is, if you can’t be strong, be useful. It raises the cost to others of abandoning you.

In embracing this realist new normal, small nations must confront a hard choice: hope the world still works as it used to, or prepare for how it works now. Hope is seductive; one can continue to speak the language of universal rights and mutual security and pray that the better angels of human nature prevail. But hope, as we have seen, is a poor shield against missiles and tanks. Preparation is arduous and expensive, but it at least stacks the odds a bit less unfavorably. Preparation means building arsenals, yes, but also mental preparedness – educating citizens that peace is not given, it is earned and guarded vigilantly.

One might ask: are we sliding back into a darker age of constant wars and no norms at all? Not necessarily. In fact, the very clarity of this post-order world can be stabilizing in its own way, if states internalize the new rules of survival. It’s a colder, more Hobbesian equilibrium, but there can be equilibrium. It just rests on deterrence and balance rather than collective security and goodwill. Think of it as a return to classical geopolitics – spheres of influence, armed neutrality, power bargains – after a holiday from history that lasted 75 years. The optimism of the 1990s is gone, but perhaps a wiser realism can replace it, one that avoids both naïveté and needless belligerence.

What of morality and justice, then? Are they doomed to be trampled? Not if those who cherish them also wield strength. As the Roman general Vegetius famously noted, “Let him who desires peace prepare for war.” In a twist of fate, those who want a more just world must now equip themselves to fight for it (literally or figuratively). Soft power alone won’t cut it. The age of the warrior-scholar-statesman may be returning – leaders who can navigate ruthless power politics while still lighting a candle for higher principles, and crucially, backing those principles with credible force.

The collapse of the old order is not the end of civilization; it is a call to adapt or perish. Oswald Spengler, reflecting on why civilizations decline, observed that often it’s a failure to respond creatively to new challenges that seals their fate[45][46]. Arnold Toynbee similarly wrote, “Civilizations die from suicide, not by murder.”[45][46] In other words, external threats alone rarely destroy a society; it’s the internal inability to meet the threat that does it. Small nations today have a choice: succumb to despair and dependency (a form of civilizational suicide), or reinvent themselves for rugged self-reliance (choosing life). The Western-led order’s collapse is a blow, but not the end. It simply means the safety net is gone; now it’s tightrope walking with no net below. Scary, yes, but also focusing.

In this new world, power respects power. Patience and preparation pay off (as China shows). Promises and ideals, unless backed by iron, are “but words”[28]. The jungle is growing back, as Kagan warned, and in the jungle one must cultivate sharp thorns or partner with a strong tree for shelter. The small nations that will survive and thrive are those who internalize this reality fast. They will arm themselves, train their people to endure, seek friends without illusions, and above all, never surrender their fate entirely to others. They will do as the old Bedouin saying advises: “Trust in God, but tie up your camel.” In modern terms: believe in principles, but lock and load just in case.

The era of the rules-based order may be over, but a new era of clear-eyed strategic realism is being born. It will be unforgiving to the foolish yet rewarding to the wise. Let the small nations take heed: history’s jungle rewards not the strongest per se, but the most adaptable. Adapting now means acting as if each nation stands alone – and paradoxically, by doing so, finding the solidarity of those who also stand strong. A coalition of the willing, not in the sense of ideological crusades, but in the sense of nations willing to stand on their own feet and assist each other out of strength, not weakness.

The final image is perhaps this: a return to an older balance where courage and cunning mattered as much as constitutions and charters. It’s not a prospect to cheer, but neither is it doom. It is simply reality, roaring back. And reality, as ever, rewards those who face it squarely. As Thomas Hobbes soberly reminded us long ago, in a world without a common power, “the notions of right and wrong have no place… force and fraud are the two cardinal virtues”[47][48]. We need not embrace cynicism, but we must not indulge in fantasy. In the end, the small nations that persist will be those that learn the law of the jungle – and then, through strength and savvy, transcend it enough to protect what they hold dear.

Let us hope the leaders of today’s vulnerable states heed these survival lessons. The jungle is here, but with iron will and perhaps a dash of luck, they can endure until a new, more just garden might be cultivated again. In the meantime, keep your powder dry and your alliances close, for the night is dark and full of terrors – and dawn, though delayed, comes only to those who last through the night.

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[1] [2] The Jungle Grows Back: America and Our Imperiled World | Brookings

The Jungle Grows Back: America and Our Imperiled World

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https://www.belfercenter.org/publication/bound-fail-rise-and-fall-liberal-international-order

[4] Is the U.S. Abandoning the World Order It Created? | RAND

https://www.rand.org/pubs/commentary/2016/11/is-the-us-abandoning-the-world-order-it-created.html

[5] Topic: Relations with Ukraine – NATO

https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/topics_37750.htm

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https://nsarchive.gwu.edu/briefing-book/nato-75-russia-programs/2024-12-05/budapest-memorandum-1994-after-30-years-non

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[8] Chinese Security Contractors in Africa

https://carnegieendowment.org/research/2020/10/chinese-security-contractors-in-africa?lang=en

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https://www.reuters.com/article/business/chinese-firm-pays-584-million-in-sri-lanka-port-debt-to-equity-deal-idUSKBN1JG2Z5

[11] China’s African port interests are expanding. Is the PLA Navy next …

https://www.scmp.com/news/china/diplomacy/article/3302682/chinas-african-port-interests-are-expanding-pla-navy-next-deck

[12] [PDF] The U.S.-China Strategic Competition – Aspen Institute

https://www.aspeninstitute.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/Allison-Final.pdf

[13] Danger Zone: The Coming Conflict with China – AEI

https://www.aei.org/research-products/book/danger-zone-the-coming-conflict-with-china

[14] [15] China far outpacing US in military, commercial ship numbers 

https://www.voanews.com/a/trump-pledges-to-resurrect-shipbuilding-as-china-seen-outpacing-us-/8004070.html

[18] Victory in Ukraine Starts with Addressing Five Strategic Problems

https://www.csis.org/analysis/victory-ukraine-starts-addressing-five-strategic-problems

[19] Strategic Clarity: An Argument for Effective Deterrence – DKI APCSS

Strategic Clarity: An Argument for Effective Deterrence

[20] [22] [23] Report: China, Russia, Cuba Running for Seats on U.N. Human Rights Council – UN Watch

Report: China, Russia, Cuba Running for Seats on U.N. Human Rights Council

[21] United Nations Human Rights Council – Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_Nations_Human_Rights_Council

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UN Condemns Israel 17 Times, Rest of World Combined 6 Times

[26] [27] Francesca Albanese’s Ten Most Terrible Moments in July 2025 – UN Watch

Francesca Albanese’s Ten Most Terrible Moments in July 2025

[28] Covenants, without the sword, are but words and… – Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/1045422-covenants-without-the-sword-are-but-words-and-of-no

[29] The Real Story of Stuxnet – IEEE Spectrum

https://spectrum.ieee.org/the-real-story-of-stuxnet

[30] U.N. Council Condemns Israeli Raid – The Washington Post

https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/1981/06/20/un-council-condemns-israeli-raid/248f8263-f823-4bfe-9aab-1ac4a7342308

[31] Netanyahu: Israel Will Act Alone If Necessary To Prevent Iranian Nuclear Threat – The Media Line

Netanyahu: Israel Will Act Alone If Necessary To Prevent Iranian Nuclear Threat

[32] Netanyahu at UNGA: Israel will ‘stand alone’ to prevent nuclear Iran

https://www.jpost.com/diplomacy-and-politics/netanyahu-addresses-the-united-nations-general-assembly-327576

[33] Drones in the Nagorno-Karabakh War: Analyzing the Data

Drones in the Nagorno-Karabakh War: Analyzing the Data

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https://www.axios.com/2020/09/30/israel-kamikaze-drones-nagorno-karabakh-azerbaijan

[38] [40] [41] [42] Israeli arms, drones quietly helped Azerbaijan retake Nagorno …

https://www.c4isrnet.com/battlefield-tech/2023/10/05/israeli-arms-drones-quietly-helped-azerbaijan-retake-nagorno-karabakh

[39] Turkish And Israeli Drones’ Big Impact On Nagorno-Karabakh Conflict

[45] Christopher Quigley: Civilizations die by suicide, not by murder

Christopher Quigley: Civilizations die by suicide, not by murder

[46] Arnold J. Toynbee – Civilizations die from suicide, not by…

https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/arnold_j_toynbee_165737

[47] [48] Hobbes

https://history.hanover.edu/courses/excerpts/161hob.html