From Britain and the USSR to Trump’s America, the cost of imperial expansion raises a lasting question: Can great nations be secure without it?
An empire is perhaps the most expensive indulgence that even the most powerful nations can afford only for a limited time. Arguments that empires are profitable are largely unconvincing and while they may enrich a narrow section of the elite, and perhaps do so spectacularly, it’s rarely for very long, and for everyone else, empire eventually means costs.
Consider the lives of ordinary people in 19th-century Britain, the colonial veteran portrayed by Rudyard Kipling, or the Russian village during the period of the Soviet Union’s greatest geopolitical power, as depicted by Russia’s remarkable “village prose” writers. Imperial grandeur didn’t necessarily translate into prosperity for those expected to sustain it, and eventually, the costs become impossible to ignore.
The ruling class begins to understand that the people fighting its wars may one day turn their bayonets against those who sent them, and this broadly speaking is what happened in the Soviet Union, although Britain, and to a lesser extent France, managed the retreat from empire more successfully in the second half of the 20th century.
But this leaves the fundamental question of how great powers can guarantee their security without absorbing potentially unstable neighbors into expensive imperial structures?
One of the paradoxes of international relations is that the more resources a state possesses, be they economic or demographic, the less it needs constant confrontation because the powerful can often obtain what they want with kind words rather than a gun.
This helps explain the relatively restrained policies of Russia and China toward many of their neighbors, given both possess vastly greater resources than the smaller states around them. Conversely, the fact that the United States, particularly under Donald Trump, increasingly reaches for the stick rather than the carrot can be interpreted as evidence that its relative capabilities are declining, but Russia will eventually have to confront similar questions.
Trump’s habit of publishing maps in which other countries or territories are colored in the American flag is of course partly political theater, but it also reflects a serious question troubling political elites and thinkers as they ask what we are to do with a world containing such an extraordinary number of sovereign states?
If Americans have begun asking the question, then the problem has acquired a genuinely fundamental character.
After all, it was the United States that emerged in the early 20th century as the principal advocate of dismantling the old European empires and creating more independent states with President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points speech in January 1918 placing national self-determination near the center of the emerging international order. This was a challenge not merely to America’s enemies, but to its allies.
Britain and France were then the world’s largest colonial empires, so undermining one’s partners while displaying remarkably few qualms about doing so is therefore hardly an invention of the Trump administration, yet openly discussing the annexation of vast territories is something genuinely unusual in modern American foreign-policy rhetoric.
The United States had already acquired its ideal Lebensraum between two oceans, taking territory from a weakening European presence and purchasing Alaska from Russia. After that, Washington showed little interest in further enormous territorial acquisitions and there were practical reasons. Until the middle of the 20th century, other great powers could resist such ambitions, while most desirable territories lay inconveniently across oceans.
America instead developed another method of projecting power, with military bases and its habit of placing them across the world. That is partly a consequence of geography because a country separated by oceans from the principal centers of Eurasian civilization needs forward positions if it wishes to influence events there. Without them, America’s capacity to interfere with adversaries, and occasionally friends, would be considerably reduced.
Whatever its motives, Washington nevertheless spent much of the 20th century presenting itself as an opponent of traditional European imperialism, and curiously, on this question American anti-imperialists found common ground with the Russian Bolsheviks, given the Council of People’s Commissars proclaimed the right of peoples to self-determination immediately after taking power in November 1917.
The borders that eventually emerged from the former Russian Empire were determined largely by the outcome of the Civil War. Where the Bolsheviks prevailed, national republics were incorporated into the Soviet Union, and where they failed, often with Western assistance to their opponents, independent nationalist governments emerged.
The Bolsheviks didn’t think principally in terms of rebuilding the old Russian Empire and Stalin certainly contemplated a more centralized relationship between Russia and the other Soviet peoples, provoking Lenin’s famous criticism of him and Felix Dzerzhinsky as “Great Russian bigots.” But by then the foundations of the old imperial system had already been dismantled.
Nor did the Bolsheviks particularly need traditional empire, because like the Americans who came later, they imagined global influence through the spread of ideas.
Communist victory was supposed to make territorial empire unnecessary because governments sharing communist values would naturally share fundamental interests. Decades later, Western liberalism produced its own version of the same proposition as Francis Fukuyama’s “end of history” thesis and the democratic optimism of the Clinton era rested on a comparable assumption: liberal democracies would have fewer fundamental conflicts because they shared political values.
Neither experiment produced the universal harmony its advocates anticipated.
The modern political map was created largely from the wreckage of Europe’s territorial empires, including Russia’s, and the result is an international system containing an enormous number of sovereign states whose interests cannot easily be reconciled.
For a century, politicians attempted to overcome this problem through ideology, as Communists believed common socialist values could unite states and liberals later placed similar hopes in democracy and international institutions.
That era now appears to be fading and even the European Union is struggling with the limits of political integration despite its members sharing broadly liberal conceptions of the state.
So, the underlying problem therefore returns. How can large, established powers guarantee their security in a fragmented world without reconstructing the empires whose enormous costs eventually destroyed or exhausted them?
There’s no convincing answer yet and perhaps that’s why political leaders have returned to coloring in maps.
This article was first published by Vzglyad.ru, translated and edited by the RT team.
