A Fractured World and the Collapse of the Liberal Order

In his 1925 poem The Hollow Men, T. S. Eliot imagines the end of the world coming “not with a bang but a whimper.” He evokes the silent collapse of a civilization torn apart by conflict, where emptiness and relativism prevail. Destruction, in his image, unfolds not through an explosion but through apathy – like a sound muffled by disenchantment. This vision of a society disintegrating into indifference provides a striking metaphor for today’s international order: not an abrupt implosion, but a slow, perhaps irreversible fracture.

At first glance, the notion of an “international order” may seem abstract, far removed from daily concerns. Yet the order built after the Second World War shaped the lives of billions. It guaranteed decades of relative peace and stability, underpinned globalization, expanded trade and travel, and created mechanisms for cooperation between nations. This order rested on shared norms and rules, the defense of free trade, the political strength of liberal democracies, and unprecedented technological progress. Today, however, this order is under strain: institutions are mistrusted, populist and authoritarian movements are on the rise, societies are polarized, and the world is again marked by wars, military interventions, and escalating trade disputes.

The rise and decline of this order have long been debated. But in recent years, a series of developments have exposed its fragility more clearly: the nationalist turn in the United States, conflicts in Eastern Europe and the Middle East, the resurgence of protectionism, and the mounting climate crisis. It was in this context that I wrote Fractured World: Reflections on the Crisis of the Liberal Order (Matrix Editora, 2024), an attempt to organize and interpret the historical moment we are living through.

My goal with the book was to bring the debate on the transformations of the global order closer to the Brazilian audience. I focused on the world that began to take shape in 1989 with the fall of the Berlin Wall–an era that seemed to promise a more open and prosperous future than the one we face today. We are now confronted with the failed promises of that post-1989 world, or, put differently, the failed promises of the liberal order.

What worked, and what failed? To explore this question, I examined four variables that I consider essential to understanding the trajectory of the liberal order: the ideas that shape politics, the institutions and regimes that structure global governance, the dynamics of economic globalization, and the impact of communication and network technologies.

Each of these pillars was fundamental to the construction and initial success of the liberal order. Yet each has also been fractured–marked by contradictions and tensions, the outcome of a constant clash between opposing forces, much like physics: forces of cohesion versus forces of dissonance. In this article, I present the central arguments of the book and reflect on how these contradictions compel us to revisit the past and rethink the future of international relations.

THE MULTIPLE ORIGINS OF THE LIBERAL ORDER

The concept of “order” is fundamental to the analysis of international relations. The international system is naturally marked by political, military, and economic disputes. Throughout history, empires tried to impose order by dominating nations and peoples. Yet imperial rule has always proven fragile and limited. In the modern era, scholars have described the international system as “anarchic,” since no authority exists above states with a monopoly on the use of force capable of imposing an order.

Anarchy, however, is not synonymous with chaos or disorder. Even without a central authority, states can establish principles, norms, and rules; negotiate treaties; and develop mechanisms to manage conflicts. They can also build institutions that expand opportunities for cooperation.

The international order that emerged after World War II grew out of this collaborative impulse. At its core, this order preserves an important component of classical liberalism–a suspicion of the indiscriminate use of power. It upholds the perspective that power must be exercised within limits, articulated, and mediated through principles, norms, rules, and institutions.

The United Nations became its cornerstone, founded on values such as sovereign equality, self-determination of peoples, and the peaceful resolution of disputes. Over time, this architecture expanded to include institutions like the World Trade Organization (WTO), the International Monetary Fund (IMF), and the World Bank, alongside regional organizations such as the European Union, the African Union, and the Organization of American States (OAS). Informal groups like the G20 and the BRICS, as well as international regimes on trade and climate, later added flexible forms of cooperation.

John Ikenberry (2011) described the liberal order as the diffusion of Western values to form a "universal normative space." But its origins are more complex. This order also reflects the interplay between Western and non-Western actors. After World War II, many developing countries fought colonialism at the very moment some Western governments sought to preserve it. The wave of decolonization across Africa and Asia in the 1950s and 1960s played a decisive role in shaping international norms. Despite initial resistance, principles such as sovereign equality and self-determination became enshrined in international law. Moreover, values associated with the liberal order–such as democracy, the separation of powers, human rights, and free trade–have not been defended exclusively by the West, which has often violated them in practice.

The end of the Cold War led many to see the international order as “unipolar,” defined by U.S. hegemony. In the 1990s, Washington’s military, economic, and technological superiority seemed to confirm this view. Yet questions about “unipolarity” soon arose as other states expanded their influence. The concept of “multipolarity” became more fitting, capturing a world in which multiple powers compete and cooperate across different domains. A truly multilateral order, therefore, resists hegemonic dominance by any single state.

Still, the notion of “hegemony” remains useful. While no single state enjoys absolute power in today’s international order, a group of countries continues to shape global institutions and norms. These are countries that combine democratic governance with market economies (Viola & Leis 2007). Despite many differences, they share common foundations – regular elections, the rule of law, separation of powers, private property, and free enterprise. Their governments are not necessarily synonymous with “neoliberalism” and include different models of social democracy. Acting collectively, they hold strategic interests and exercise a form of shared hegemony, wielding decisive influence in global governance, military alliances, trade, finance, and technological innovation.

The liberal order, then, was never the product of one actor alone. It is the outcome of a global effort. This order depends on a sense of shared legitimacy to exist. Today, however, this legitimacy is under strain: disputes between liberal democracies and authoritarian powers, as well as divisions within liberal democracies themselves, expose just how fragile that consensus is–and how deeply contested the very foundations of the liberal order have become.

THE EROSION OF LIBERALISM IN THE WEST

Since the end of the Cold War, liberalism has stood as the hegemonic ideological paradigm of our time. Liberal democracy became the dominant political and economic model, presenting itself as a “common ideological heritage for humanity.” In this sense, Francis Fukuyama (2022) was right to claim that “we still live in the end of history.” No autocratic system has yet managed to offer a model of social organization as attractive or sustainable as liberal democracy in the long run.

Yet today there is a growing perception–especially within the West–that liberalism can no longer respond to the demands of society, whether for equality, development, or even the preservation of ethnic and community bonds. Outside the West, this skepticism hardens into the belief that liberalism is a decadent, unstable ideology.

Critiques of liberalism now come from both left and right. For decades, socialists and progressives warned against inequality, exploitation, corporate greed, and environmental degradation. More recently, right-wing nationalists have joined the attack, advancing their own visions of political renewal. This convergence of discontent across the ideological spectrum reflects a broader loss of faith in the institutions of liberal democracies and in the elites who have governed them. It is a crisis of confidence with a global reach–visible from Germany to Japan, Brazil to South Korea, Mexico to France.

Nowhere, however, has this crisis struck more forcefully than in the United States. The rise of Donald Trump dealt a heavy blow to Western liberalism, undermining America’s soft power–the global appeal of its political model, institutions, and culture. With liberalism weakened at its epicenter, promoting its visions and principles abroad has become increasingly difficult.

Under Trump’s leadership, U.S. conservatism underwent a profound transformation. It abandoned classical individualism, economic laissez-faire, and support for globalization. It embraced economic nationalism and traditionalist positions on social issues. The Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement presented itself as the authentic voice of the “average citizen” against an elite portrayed as distant, politically correct, and “out of touch.” This narrative resonated most strongly with groups left behind economically and unsettled by the social changes of recent decades.

This ideological shift did not emerge in a vacuum. The post-liberal right in the West has deep intellectual roots. While energized by contemporary politics, it draws on ideas developed in the twentieth century by thinkers such as Carl Schmitt, Oswald Spengler, Julius Evola, Alain de Benoist, Samuel Francis, Robert Nisbet, and William Lind. In recent years, new voices–including Patrick J. Deneen, Adrian Vermeule, Sohrab Ahmari, and Éric Zemmour–have carried this tradition forward. Whatever one thinks of their arguments, engaging with them is crucial to understanding the appeal of national populism today.

Although not a unified school, these thinkers share certain premises. They aim to move beyond critiques of the left to mount an autonomous attack on liberalism itself. In their view, liberalism weakens social cohesion, erodes community, and enables progressive ideologies that undermine national identity (Rose 2021).

Their critique is both cultural and economic. They claim that liberalism fosters detachment, selfishness, and mediocrity by uprooting individuals from traditions and communities. They also assert that liberalism fuels inequality and insecurity by pushing markets beyond natural limits. As early as the 1990s, the American essayist Samuel Francis identified a conservative base of low-income workers in the United States for whom nationalism and populism mattered more than strict free-market orthodoxy (Francis 1996).

Among contemporary voices, Patrick J. Deneen has become especially influential, shaping the views of political figures such as Vice-President JD Vance and technology magnate Peter Thiel. In Why Liberalism Failed (2018) and Regime Change: Toward a Postliberal Future (2023), Deneen argues that liberalism redefined freedom as the mere “absence of coercion.” True freedom, he claims, lies in what the ancients called “self-government,” achieved only through the guidance of customs and traditions. Stripped of these anchors, societies must rely increasingly on laws and state regulation. Thus, by dismissing inherited norms, liberalism would paradoxically expand state power.

Deneen identifies a similar paradox in economics. By seeking to dismantle all barriers to markets, liberalism transforms the local economy into a global force beyond the control of citizens. For him, the nationalist and populist responses across the West are reactions to this “ungovernability of the economic and political domains.” National populism, in his account, seeks to rein in liberalism’s universalist ambitions and restore the primacy of community, tradition, sovereignty, local economies, and borders.

In the early twenty-first century, this right-wing movement gained traction across many countries as a direct challenge to the liberal order. Its appeal has only deepened amid the uncertainty, risk, and recurring crises of recent years. The 2008 financial crisis, for example, dealt a severe blow to economic security and social stability, fueling a widespread sense of vulnerability. In this volatile environment, many people have sought protection and reassurance. Many have turned to leaders who promise decisive solutions – often by concentrating power and bypassing institutions.

Liberal democracy, by contrast, rests on institutions, rules, and procedures rather than on the will of a single leader. It prioritizes process over immediacy; rules over rulers. The temptation of quick fixes often weakens institutional resilience and generates further instability.

The erosion of liberalism in the West thus reflects not only external pressures but also deep internal fractures within liberal democracies themselves. These internal crises are reshaping domestic politics while also spilling into foreign policy, altering the functioning of international institutions and the broader framework of global governance.

INTERNATIONAL INSTITUTIONS, 'GLOBALISM,' AND THE RETURN TO ANARCHY

The liberal order rests on the premise that states may pursue their own interests so long as they respect shared principles, norms, and rules. It also assumes that international institutions–such as the United Nations or the World Trade Organization (WTO) – create tangible benefits by facilitating cooperation and reducing uncertainty. In recent years, however, these institutions have faced mounting challenges: weakened by neglect, criticized for inefficiency, and in some cases deliberately undermined.

Nationalist politicians in the West often claim that international organizations have “hijacked” state sovereignty. In their view, the liberal order has promoted an ideology–labeled “globalism”–that internationalizes politics, expands distant bureaucracies, and shifts authority from national governments to supranational bodies. Others, less ideologically driven, fault these institutions for failing to address today’s world of persistent wars, conflicts, and crises.

These critiques have fueled a broader argument: that Western foreign policy should no longer be constrained by multilateral rules, institutional norms, or even traditional alliances. In the United States, the “America First” doctrine embodies this perspective, casting international institutions and old partnerships as obstacles to U.S. interests. Advocates of this approach see the world as irreversibly multipolar and view the liberal order as obsolete, calling for greater strategic autonomy in an era of heightened competition (Parsi 2025).

The impulse to reclaim sovereignty is not unique to Washington. It was a decisive feature in the United Kingdom’s 2016 decision to leave the European Union. The EU begun as a project of cooperation, but was increasingly portrayed, over the decades, as having expanded into an institution with intrusive authority over member states’ domestic policies. The Brexit campaign successfully tapped into a narrative of “taking back control,” urging citizens to decide whether political authority should rest with the Parliament in London or the European Parliament in Brussels. 

For many, the UK referendum became a symbol of resistance to “globalism” and a call to restore national self-rule. Nationalists argue that the expansion of international institutions has transferred power to a distant bureaucracy detached from the needs of ordinary citizens. They contend that politicians, to be effective, must operate closer to the people they serve.

Criticism of international institutions, however, is not confined to populist nationalists. Others argue that these organizations have simply become inefficient or outdated, unable to provide effective responses to global challenges such as pandemics, climate change, or armed conflict.

Such critiques require nuance. Global problems do not always demand the transfer of power to international institutions. Many demand local solutions tailored to specific contexts. Additionally, international organizations do not override state sovereignty; they serve as instruments through which states coordinate action, reduce uncertainty, and pursue national interests. Principles, norms, and rules function as a “grammar” of international dialogue – a common language that enables interaction. In this sense, multilateral engagement can be understood less as a limitation than as an extension of national interest.

Global governance has never been linear or free of contradiction. Great powers have often violated the very norms they professed to uphold. During the Cold War, Western countries backed coups in Iran, Guatemala, and Chile, and fought wars to preserve colonial influence in Algeria, Vietnam, and Cambodia. The pattern continued into the twenty-first century: the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, launched without United Nations Security Council approval, revealed the limits of international legality in the face of raw power politics. More recently, the Security Council has struggled to address conflicts in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Since 2019, the United States has blocked appointments to the WTO Appellate Body, paralyzing the dispute settlement mechanism. And the handling of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict continues to highlight the selective application of norms, guided less by universal principles than by strategic interests.

Despite these hypocrisies and violations, the liberal order has not collapsed. Its norms, however strained, still provide reference points for diplomacy and foreign policy. The central challenge for global governance is not the wholesale rejection of a “rules-based system,” but whether that system can operate effectively in a genuinely multipolar world–one where power is more diffuse than ever. Equally uncertain is whether the most powerful states will continue to rely on international institutions, and the norms they embody, as guides for their foreign policy.

THE DISTRIBUTIONAL COSTS OF GLOBALIZATION AND THE NEW ERA OF STRATEGIC COMPETITION

One of the defining features of the liberal order was the unprecedented economic integration driven by globalization. Propelled by trade and financial liberalization in the 1990s and 2000s–and accelerated by advances in communication technologies–globalization initially appeared both inevitable and irresistible. It tore down barriers, blurred borders, and set the expectation that governments would join in–or risk isolation and irrelevance.

Over time, however, globalization came to be seen not only as a source of prosperity but also as a generator of inequality and insecurity. It produced what economists call “uneven distributional costs”–a diplomatic way of saying there are winners and losers. The benefits were broad but diffuse, often slow to materialize. The losses, by contrast, were concentrated, immediate, and in many cases devastating.

Globalization increased interdependence among nations, but it did not eliminate geopolitical competition. Interdependence does not mean harmony. The restructuring of global supply chains created new frictions, while diminished national control over macroeconomic policy introduced fresh vulnerabilities. In some cases, globalization even exacerbated conflict. The most striking example is the evolving economic relationship between the United States and China.

Asia’s economic ascent–and China’s in particular–was one of globalization’s most transformative outcomes. China’s rapid rise was built on deeper ties with the United States and other Western economies. In the early 2000s, analysts described this partnership as a marriage, famously nicknamed “Chimerica” (Ferguson 2009). The relationship flourished until the 2008 financial crisis, when it began to unravel into a contentious divorce. 

“Chimerica” took shape in 2001, when China joined the WTO. This move integrated its vast labor force and surplus savings into the global economy. The arrangement promised mutual benefits: opening China’s markets to foreign investment and fueling global growth, while offering the United States cheaper goods, new outlets for its companies, and expanded financial flows. Many hoped this economic interdependence would also align political interests, reducing rivalry and lowering the risk of conflict.

Yet, beneath the surface of prosperity, the foundations of “Chimerica” proved fragile, shaped by imbalances that would soon provoke tension. China’s growth strategy prioritized expanding production capacity across multiple sectors, drawing in foreign manufacturers that relocated operations–or even entire supply chain segments–to Chinese territory. Domestic demand could not absorb the surplus, so exports soared at highly competitive prices. Abroad, the distributional costs mounted, gradually eroding political support for trade liberalization.

In the United States, the so-called “China shock” of the 2000s hit the industrial workforce far harder than earlier import waves from countries like Germany or Japan (Smith 2024). Many displaced workers never returned to stable employment; others became dependent on public assistance. What began as economic disruption soon hardened into political anger–an anger that Donald Trump would transform into a defining force in U.S. politics.

This shift in Western attitudes toward globalization marked a turning point in the post-1989 narrative. In the euphoric years after the Cold War, it was assumed that globalization would transform others while leaving the West essentially unchanged in its triumph. By the early twenty-first century, it became clear that globalization had reshaped the West as profoundly as it had transformed other regions. With Asia’s economic rise–and China’s above all–the supposed “winners” of the Cold War increasingly came to see themselves as the “losers” of the liberal order.

The golden age of globalization was defined by the pursuit of absolute gains, confidence in the mutual benefits of interdependence, the expansion of free trade, and reliance on multilateral norms to resolve disputes. That era has ended. The focus has shifted to relative gains, the risks of dependency, and the strategic deployment of unilateral tools such as tariffs and sanctions.

This new environment is remaking the legal and institutional architecture of international trade and investment, while reshaping corporate strategies on where and how to invest (Roberts, Moraes & Ferguson 2019). The result is a visible fragmentation of economic integration along geopolitical lines–the hallmark of an emerging era of strategic competition.

COMMUNICATION TECHNOLOGIES: BETWEEN NETWORKS AND HIERARCHIES

The post-Cold War order was profoundly shaped by technological change. From the great maritime explorations to the advent of nuclear weapons, new technologies have always redefined the balance of power among nations. In recent decades, the Internet has played that role. By lowering communication costs, expanding access to information, and transforming political, economic, and social life, it has become one of the most disruptive forces of our time. Yet its legacy is ambivalent: it has also deepened divisions, fueled echo chambers, and accelerated the spread of misinformation – reshaping global politics in profound ways.

At the heart of this transformation lies a tension between networks and hierarchies. As historian Niall Ferguson argues in The Square and the Tower (2018), social networks challenge centralized structures of power. He contrasts “the square,” where ideas circulate horizontally, with “the tower,” the symbol of vertical control. Earlier technologies, such as Gutenberg’s printing press, reshaped that balance between the square and the tower, accelerating the diffusion of knowledge and sparking upheavals like the Protestant Reformation and the Enlightenment.

The Internet follows the same disruptive logic. It has transformed labor markets, commerce, finance, politics, and social interaction, creating an entirely new sphere of human activity: the digital world. But this transformation has been double-edged. The democratization of information has come alongside the proliferation of falsehoods, surveillance, and manipulation of public opinion. Social media platforms, in particular, amplify polarization by fostering closed informational loops and privileging emotional, often misleading content.

As Yuval Harari (2024) notes, information is not the same as truth. The Internet has multiplied the speed and volume of communication but also made it easier to spread stories regardless of their accuracy. Platforms thrive on constant engagement, and it is far easier to hold attention through compelling narratives than through the slow, painstaking work of fact-based inquiry.

Today, a significant share of news consumption–especially in the West–occurs on platforms like X (formerly Twitter), Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok. Users are not only consumers of information but also producers, shaping debates through posts, comments, and shares. These platforms operate on a logic of preferential attachment, clustering individuals with similar beliefs. To maximize engagement, algorithms reward outrage, amplify extremes, and marginalize moderation, deepening social and political divides.

This shift has eroded trust in traditional institutions. Individuals now wield a reach once reserved for large organizations. Trust has migrated from institutions to personalities; from established media to podcasters; from scientists to influencers; from political parties to “outsiders”. Even in finance, skepticism toward conventional institutions has fueled enthusiasm for cryptocurrencies, which thrive in an environment of institutional distrust.

Yet the digital world and its social platforms have not displaced hierarchies; they have created new ones. Power is now concentrated in a handful of technology giants–the so-called “big techs”–that control global data flows, shape access to information through algorithms, and increasingly rival states in political and economic influence. Their leaders often leverage this power to advance personal agendas, blurring the line between corporate and political authority.

The digital age has magnified the challenges of governance. Political disputes, social mobilization, and even geopolitical rivalries now unfold in the virtual sphere, raising urgent questions about privacy, regulation, freedom of expression, and the fight against disinformation. Strategic competition has also shifted into the technological domain, with states racing to secure dominance in semiconductors, advanced computing, and artificial intelligence.

The Internet, once hailed as a force for cohesion, has revealed its potential as a driver of fragmentation. It is a reminder that technological progress is never neutral. Like earlier innovations, it can bind societies together–or tear them apart.

REVISITING THE PAST TO UNDERSTAND THE FUTURE OF THE LIBERAL ORDER

The liberal order is undergoing profound transformations in the very pillars that sustain it: the ideas that shape politics, the institutions of global governance, the dynamics of economic globalization, and the role of communication technologies. Internal fractures have left visible cracks in its foundation. Yet a fractured world is not necessarily a ruined one. The quiet drift toward collapse is not inevitable.

History rarely advances in a straight line of uninterrupted progress. It unfolds through discontinuities–periods of stability punctuated by conflict, war, and abrupt reversals. This irregularity does not erase the fact that progress is possible. However uneven, the historical record shows remarkable advances in the pursuit of freedom, justice, peace, and security.

More important than predicting the future is recognizing the echoes of the past. Revisiting history helps us understand the present, for each turning point contains complexities that resist simplistic narratives. The year 1989 is a striking example: remembered in the West as the high-water mark of the liberal order, it also sowed the contradictions that would later challenge it.

The fall of the Berlin Wall symbolized the end of the Cold War and the triumph of liberal democracies. Yet elsewhere, different realities unfolded. In Kabul, Islamist groups celebrated the Soviet retreat as a victory for armed resistance. In Beijing, the Tiananmen Square crackdown revealed the Chinese Communist Party’s capacity to combine market reform with political repression. These events complicate the notion of 1989 as an unambiguous liberal triumph, highlighting instead a layered and contested history.

This complexity underpins the argument of Indonesian scholar Amitav Acharya (2017), who contends that we now inhabit a “multiplex world”: one marked by interconnectedness, but also by a plurality of coexisting–and often competing–international arrangements. Events such as Donald Trump’s election and Brexit have further exposed divergences within the West itself about the merits of the liberal order, undermining the idea that the post–Cold War era was defined simply as “the West versus the Rest.”

In a multiplex world, no single nation or ideology holds uncontested sway. Acharya sees the liberal order not as the world’s framework, but as one among many competing for influence. This view challenges the “G-Zero world” thesis of Ian Bremmer and Nouriel Roubini (2011), which warns of a vacuum of leadership. Instead, Acharya envisions a “G-Plus” world, in which leadership is shared between established Western powers and emerging states–a model that may prove more sustainable than concentrating authority in a narrow set of actors.

Fragmentation, in this light, does not necessarily mean chaos. It can create room for tailored solutions adapted to local contexts. For developing countries, this environment offers opportunities to diversify partnerships, reduce vulnerabilities, and exercise greater strategic autonomy: maintaining neutrality amid geopolitical rivalries, adopting risk-mitigation strategies (hedging), and pressing for institutional reforms to make global governance more representative and effective.

The proliferation of alternative structures of governance–from regional blocs and flexible alliances–has already expanded states’ strategic options in global affairs. Far from being an obstacle, fragmentation can spur innovation in foreign policy. International regimes, too, have shown an ability to adapt. The paralysis of the WTO Appellate Body, for example, has not meant the end of the multilateral trading system. New initiatives, such as the Multi-Party Interim Appeal Arbitration Arrangement (MPIA) and the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership (CPTPP), have emerged to fill the gap.

The same is true in climate governance. Despite chronic underperformance, insufficient resources, and recurring breaches of commitments, new initiatives have emerged: subnational commitments, sectoral alliances, and new financial instruments, all reinforcing – rather than replacing – the global framework. Regional organizations have also asserted a stronger role: ASEAN and the African Union have developed their own crisis-management mechanisms, while trade agreements like RCEP, the TPP, and Mercosur advance integration at a time of waning appetite for grand multilateral trade deals.

The liberal order, then, should not be viewed as a rigid structure in terminal decline. Over eight decades, it has oscillated between resilience and fragility, stability and disorder. But it has endured because many societies and governments continue to find value in sustaining it.

In today’s fractured world, new forms of governance will inevitably emerge. No society–least of all the international one–begins with a blank slate. Global politics unfolds within an inherited order that still offers crucial reference points for managing conflict and limiting the costs of anarchy. Any serious attempt to reconfigure global governance will need to balance continuity with innovation, drawing on the past even as it seeks to chart a new future.

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* Translated by the author

Submitted: Febriary 10, 2025
Accepted for publication: Julho 7, 2025

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