Warning: The following is armchair geopolitics. If macroeconomics is astrology for men, then I’m not sure what this is – maybe a weighted blanket for soft boys. I’m more likely to be wrong than usual, but I can’t help thinking about this stuff, and since the best way to improve my thinking is writing, I also can’t help writing about it.
I get why America would want to strike the nuclear facilities of a country openly hostile towards them. I also get why Iran would want to build nuclear weapons to defend themselves against real and growing threats in their region. And I get why Jewish people would want a place to feel safe in the world after centuries of persecution crescendoed in WWII.
Each of these choices had a certain logic to them, but have had and will continue to have disastrous consequences. I'm not interested in simplistic moralising that pretends better options were obvious and these decisions were all made by evil people with terrible motives. Nor am I interested in historical determinism that suggests these events were inevitable. Morality, to me, is about identifying credible alternatives and getting our leaders to choose them.
Attacking Iran doesn’t pose enormous direct risks for America, though it does raise the threat of terrorism. The real danger comes from the indirect consequences. I learned yesterday that 20% of global oil and gas goes via the Strait of Hormuz, off Iran’s coast. Major disruptions to oil markets often spark economic crises, pushing nations toward more frustrated, aggressive actions. Other nuclear-armed enemies of America are also now surely on high alert, recognising President Trump is willing to take unpredictable military action to secure his version of world peace.
Perhaps it’ll all blow over. But it’d be irresponsible not to consider whether this could be the domino that sets off a sequence of events which leads us to ask: how the hell did we get here?
Preventing domino effects is precisely why democracy is so vital. Democratic elections create opportunities to break the links between otherwise seemingly unavoidable cause and effect. It's the societal equivalent of meditating – pausing to create space between stimulus and response. A chance to do something other than what feels inevitable.
That's why there’s still hope for America to step off the war path, in a way that’s trickier for countries like Russia or China. Next year's congressional elections, assuming they're free and fair, will signal whether Americans can still stomach Trump’s erratic leadership. If not, it could finally provide enough momentum for an anti-Trump coalition to form within the Republican Party. Love them or hate them, American democracy requires an alternative to the Democrats. A functioning two-party system is still far better than a one-party state, whoever’s in charge.
But I want to be more precise about what I believe it means to protect democracy. Should the US have done more to defend democracy in Ukraine? Should they defend it in Taiwan? Realistically, I don’t think so. Taking on Russia or China poses a real risk of nuclear retaliation against major US cities, which attacking Iran does not. In our current system of nation-states, where each country tries to look after its own people, risking American lives for Ukrainians or Taiwanese is a tough sell.
Things could be different in a global democratic system, but that’s not the system we have. The UN, despite being a noble attempt at world government, isn't remotely democratic. Its key institutions like the Security Council (even when they’re being respected) are fundamentally undemocratic, with major countries having veto power over the will of the global population.
So if we still care about the spread of democracy, we need to acknowledge it’s far from the dominant governance system across the globe. And people are now starting to doubt its ability to solve domestic issues, let alone whether we should be exporting it. Winning the Cold War didn’t guarantee democracy’s ascendency forever; in a changing world, we have to continuously prove it’s better than all the others. So, no – while I want Ukraine and Taiwan to remain democratic, we aren't in much of a position to protect them right now.
I don’t mean to sound despairing. On the contrary, I still believe history bends towards justice and representative democracy is the best system we have. But what I’m arguing is the best thing we can do for places on democracy’s boundaries is to prove it still works at its core. Maybe democracy only works if we stand up for it everywhere, all at once. I’d like to hear that argument. But before we fight to protect far away lands, before we take to the streets in protest, I think there are a couple of things we need to fix about ourselves first.
One, guard our hearts.
The danger of our increasingly manufactured sympathy for the people and causes that symbolise our politics is that our compassion becomes tribal, letting hatred slowly build for those outside it. The only solution to tribalism is seeing the humanity in everyone, even your enemies. Kill them with kindness and be wary of anyone attempting to weaponise your kindness. A fascist reaction from the left is as scary as tyranny from the right. It’s harder to stop a pendulum than to let it swing wildly.
Two, keep our heads.
Support parties that can handle complexity: ones that try to hold multiple, seemingly contradictory truths simultaneously. If a movement embraces (or refutes) every one of the Woke Ten Commandments without leaving any space for questioning, it’s more likely dogma than thoughtful policy. But being a contrarian or a troll is worse. Destroying flawed ideas without having the courage to suggest better ones just leaves people confused and hopeless.
And prepare for harder times ahead. Doomsday prepping doesn't mean you’re giving up hope. Stocking provisions and having a bug-out bag, while silly, is fundamentally optimistic. It shows you believe human life is still worth saving, however bad things get, and it helps you avoid freaking out if things deteriorate quickly. Waiting until things get really bad to make a backup plan ensures panic compounds rapidly.
This kind of worrying about the future is making it hard for me to lock in fun plans for the summer. Friends want to blow off steam, but my body can’t seem to loosen up right now. Hemingway’s quip about how Mike Campbell goes bankrupt in The Sun Also Rises rattles around in my mind. He says it happened two ways: first slowly, then all at once. Well this new normal started slow. People refused to believe that in the supposed age of mutually assured destruction, conventional war with nuclear powers was still possible. Now we’re on the brink of it.
My friends deserve some good times. After the pandemic and so many other stressors – a tough job market, housing market and a torch being lit to their good work in public policy, global health and development – a good boogie is probably just what they need.
For me, I’m less sure. Part of me wants to dance while we still can. Part of me wants to bunker down. Mostly I’m excited to be going home soon. After too long on the sidelines, I believe Australia can become a beacon of hope to the world in these dark times. I’m looking forward to reconnecting with my community, trying to find my place in it and helping tell the story of how we became more than just the lucky country.