Mirage of Growth, Machinery of Power: Reflections on Violence and Hegemony in the Global Economy

     For the longest time, I believed the world was driven by the survival instincts of states. Wars, as Realists thought, happened because borders were threatened by Anarchical structure, identities were wounded, or ideologies clashed. International relations appeared to be a series of defensive reactions in a chaotic, unpredictable world. But over time, I’ve begun to doubt that narrative. When I observe global politics today, when I look at the endless wars, the diplomatic deadlocks, the shifting alliances, and the sudden peace deals, I no longer see states merely trying to survive. What I see is something far more disquieting: economies pretending to survive.

These are not systems surviving through real production, equity, or tangible value, but economies that are performing survival, held together by the illusion of stability. It’s a carefully maintained mirage, where what matters most is not the well-being of people, but the appearance that capital is flowing, that currencies are strong, and that markets are confident. This illusion demands constant upkeep, even if it comes at the cost of war, coercion, and systemic injustice.

We're often told that religion, nationalism, or civilizational pride lie at the core of conflict. These narratives do have emotional power, they rally masses, shape headlines, and legitimize action. But they are also disturbingly flexible. A state might bomb its neighbor in the name of sovereignty one day and sign a trade pact with the same regime the next. If these values were truly non-negotiable, would they be so easily set aside when capital is at stake? Behind these ideological smokescreens, I sense a more pressing anxiety, one that is financial in nature. The real fear is not of losing land or honour, but of losing currency value, investor confidence, and capital flow. The fear that markets will collapse if the illusion slips.

Susan Strange once noted, “The real power in the world is not military but structural power.” This is the kind of power that shapes the very frameworks in which states operate, the rules of the game that determine who gets to survive and grow. And it’s within these structures that the true machinery of global hegemony operates.

Consider the petrodollar system. When the U.S. dropped the gold standard in 1971, it struck a strategic deal with Saudi Arabia, ensuring that oil would be priced only in U.S. dollars. This created a worldwide demand for dollars, as all countries needed them to buy oil. Oil-exporting countries, in turn, recycled these dollars by investing them in U.S. government bonds. In this way, the dollar's dominance, no longer backed by gold, was now secured by oil. This system had to be protected at all costs. Wars were waged, leaders were toppled, and military bases were established wherever this arrangement faced disruption. And while these moves were publicly justified as promoting stability or fighting extremism, what was really being stabilized was the dollar, not people’s lives, not peace, not justice. As Michael Hudson bluntly put it, “The aim of U.S. policy is to make other countries dependent on the U.S. dollar, not to make them prosperous.”

The more I look at what we call “growth,” the more I realise it often has no material basis. In today’s financialized global economy, growth no longer means producing more or living better, it means moving money faster. Consumption is celebrated, even if it is unsustainable. Credit is extended endlessly, even if it deepens inequality. What matters is that the machine never stops humming. And international institutions are the engineers of this illusion. The IMF, the World Bank, and the WTO operate not as neutral development partners, but as enforcers of a model that prioritizes capital over communities, and debt repayment over dignity. Their policies push states toward liberalization, privatization, and austerity, all in the name of “stability.” But whose stability is it? Certainly not that of the poorest or most vulnerable. David Harvey, critiquing neoliberalism, once wrote, “The freedom of capital to flow wherever it wants is far more important than the freedom of people.” Susan Strange, in her searing analysis, described these institutions as “an elaborate protection racket for creditors.”

What is often presented as support, aid packages, structural reforms, balance of payment assistance, is in practice a highly conditional process that enforces dependence. Countries are made to shrink their public sectors, sell off national assets, and open up markets to foreign investors, all to maintain creditworthiness in a system they had no real say in designing. The World Bank, for all its development rhetoric, ties its investments to deregulation and market access. The IMF, originally meant to provide temporary financial relief, now acts like a global accountant, dictating state budgets in ways that often undercut public welfare. The WTO, meanwhile, promotes the idea of free trade while turning a blind eye to the ways in which powerful nations rig the rules in their favour. They subsidize their farmers, while punishing poorer countries for doing the same. In short, these institutions protect a system where the dominance of the dollar, the circulation of capital, and the control of trade routes remain largely unchallenged.

What unnerves me is that perhaps the biggest fear of our times is not ideological collapse, but financial collapse. Not that we will go to war over belief or identity, but that if we stop pretending our currencies are strong, the entire scaffolding will fall. Immanuel Wallerstein, in his world-systems theory, wrote, “The modern world-system is not a civilization. It is an economic system that uses politics to ensure the endless accumulation of capital.” And like any illusion, it must never be exposed. Not because it is true, but because it has become too costly to admit it isn’t.

I don’t claim to have a grand theory. I only know that when I observe the world now, I no longer see just statesmen and soldiers. I see illusionists. I see bankers in military fatigues. I see economists casting spells in policy papers, and I see citizens caught in the fallout of a performance that cannot be paused. Not because it’s just or even necessary, but because the system has made too many promises it cannot afford to break. And if the show ever stops, we might finally see the barren desert where the mirage once shimmered.