The world mourns a child killed in the North, while thousands die in silence in the South. Collective consciousness has become the most ruthless instrument of modern colonialism. Politics was once defined as the art of governing nations and organising interests. Today, it has become the art of managing crises. Every crisis is born to feed the next; each war launched to justify the survival of a political or security system. Chaos is no longer the outcome of a weak order—it has become part of its structure, a mechanism to ensure its perpetual motion. This transformation has trapped the world in a loop of manufactured tension, where crises are never resolved — only reborn under new forms. For more than nine years, the Ukrainian crisis has stood as a stark example of how the international system sustains itself through perpetual conflict. Since the events of 2014 and Russia's annexation of Crimea through the full-scale war of 2022, Ukraine has become a theatre for redrawing the boundaries of global influence between East and West. The war there is no longer a struggle over land or sovereignty but a tool for redefining global power balances. The Ukrainian crisis exposed that the international order does not seek to end conflicts but to manage them—each temporary truce extending the life of the conflict itself, as if the world needs war to justify its own political existence. If we look at political leadership today, we can trace the rise of an odd wave of populist figures who rely on charisma rather than policy. US President Donald Trump offered the clearest example of a leader who shapes his image through media more than achievement—ruling through provocation rather than principle. Following his path, similar figures have emerged worldwide, treating politics as performance and citizens as spectators craving a hero, not a vision. In this new paradigm, the state becomes a media stage. Modern domination no longer requires wars, battles, or even physical occupation. Great powers now exert influence through political and cognitive control—via media, education, and technology that shape collective awareness. Contemporary occupation raises no flag; it plants an idea. Nations intervene in others' affairs under the pretext of promoting democracy, redrawing maps to serve their own interests. For decades, slogans like "freedom" and "reform" in the Arab world have turned into instruments for dividing spheres of influence among major powers. In many countries, decisions are now made beyond their borders, while their citizens believe they are free. Freedom has lost its meaning—it is no longer measured by what you can change but by what you are permitted to say. Wars today no longer aim for victory but for survival. From Gaza to Sudan to Yemen, conflicts are managed not to be resolved but to sustain the regimes they orbit. Every war preserves a system, granting one side justification to cling to power or forge a new alliance. In Gaza, the war is less a military confrontation than a geopolitical card in the regional game of influence. In Sudan, external loyalties shift more than internal power balances. War has ceased to be a political act—it has become perpetual motion without purpose, conflict for its own sake. Over the past two decades, the moral image the West painted of itself has crumbled. Wars waged in the name of freedom ended in chaos; values raised as banners fell at the first test of interest. The media mourns one child in the North while thousands are buried in the South in silence. Human rights have become a political tool—invoked when convenient, forgotten when not. International law has lost its authority, reduced to a net where the strong ensnare the weak. Global justice today is selective— applied by degree, not by principle. Palestine stands as living testimony: the same world that chants freedom turns away from injustice when the victim is from the South. Behind this entire scene, artificial intelligence emerges as a new force reshaping global political decision-making. Major decisions are no longer made solely in government offices but in data-analysis centres that study political and social behaviour and shape public discourse. Intelligent systems have become silent partners in governance, informing critical military and economic choices. The real danger is no longer that machines will control humans, but that humans will think like machines—cold, precise, and conscienceless. The world is moving towards governance without emotion, where political decisions become mathematical equations and the human being a digital variable in a computational model. Amid all this, the human being as a moral value has vanished from political equations. The question is no longer "What is just?" but "What is possible?" The debate is not about right, but about profit. States are now run like corporations—measured by numbers, not by morality. Yet the seeds of awareness are sprouting again. A new generation of youth, in the Arab world and beyond, is rejecting the old rhetoric, realising that true revolution lies not only in the streets but in the way we think. This generation seeks to reclaim politics as a human act, not a media performance—a project of consciousness before governance. Chaos is not the end of the world—it is humanity's final test. The politics that will survive are not the strongest but the most conscious. The leader who will endure is the one who sees the future as a trust, not as a prize. In a world drifting towards digitisation and abstraction, the humanistic leader remains the rare equation that reminds us: politics is not merely the management of the world—it is a responsibility to it.
