- The current geopolitical landscape is compared to a second Cold War, characterized by rivalry between Eastern and Western blocs, espionage, trade disputes, military expansion, and competition in space exploration.
- Unlike the first Cold War, where ideology clearly aligned with geopolitical conflict (capitalism vs. socialism), the current era presents a more complex ideological picture, with China being a capitalist state despite its Communist Party rule.
- The text argues that the primary ideological battle line of the current era is not between East and West, or the US and Russia, but rather within the West, specifically between the US and Europe.
- US political figures like J.D. Vance are depicted as criticizing European states for issues such as individual liberty, democratic rights, and immigration policies, drawing parallels to past US stances against Soviet bloc nations.
- The piece concludes that Cold War 2.0 is defined by financial multipolarity, geopolitical bipolarity between China and the US, and an ideological tripolarity involving the US, the EU, and Russia, presenting potential opportunities for nations like Britain.
We are in a new era of geopolitical rivalry. It is one that has engulfed world politics since the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, and it is referred to increasingly as a second Cold War. Once again, the world is divided into an Eastern bloc and a Western bloc. They spy intensively on each other, quarrel over trade policy, and face off in the UN Security Council. They are expanding their nuclear arsenals, and they are planning dramatic feats of space exploration, lunar and even inter-planetary colonisation, even as they attempt to contain each other’s economic and technological advancement. They build competing alliances, with Nato acquiring a counterpart in the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation, and they compete for the loyalty of larger states, such as India and Brazil, that are yet to unambiguously take a side. Elsewhere, the indirect antagonists engage in proxy wars (Ukraine being an example) and coups in Africa, while scrambling to secure resources of critical industrial minerals — lithium, cobalt, uranium. In some ways, it is as if the original Cold War never went away.
Yet there is at least one significant difference between Cold Wars 1.0 and 2.0. In Cold War 1.0, ideological dispute between Left and Right mapped directly onto geopolitical conflict. The First Cold War was a trial of state strength, measured in terms of military might and the extent of a country’s diplomatic influence. But it was also a competition between social systems, political visions and rival ideologies: the capitalist markets of the West versus the socialist command economies of the East. It was a trial of whether competitive, multi-party liberalism could extract more political legitimacy from its citizens when compared to communist single-party states. The trial, then, was about more than innovation in weapons systems; it also involved questions of individual rights and state legitimacy.
By contrast, the ideological fissures of today’s cold war do not clearly map onto these international rivalries. Instead, they yield a much more complex picture of political tension and geopolitical rivalry. It is true that China is still ruled by a Communist Party that won power back in 1948, but China is not the champion of Leftism in the way the USSR was. There is now a stock market in Beijing — China’s third stock market, after Shanghai and Shenzhen — and, by some reckonings, China has more billionaires than the US itself. Many of these billionaires made their fortunes after China began to enmesh its economy with the world’s. The USSR was part of Comecon, the autarkic trading regime of the Eastern bloc that kept its members sequestered from the wider world economy, but the Chinese and US economies are deeply intertwined. This much is evident from the complexity of the tariff negotiations currently underway between the two countries’ trade negotiators.
At the same time, the two powers’ navies menace each other in the Pacific. The tensions between the countries are real, but so is their inter-dependence. Each side represents one of the two wings of global capitalism, with industrial capital concentrated in China and finance capital in the US. While Donald Trump has been vocal in accusing China of stealing American jobs and exporting poisonous fentanyl to US consumers, he and his administration have been relatively muted in their political criticism of the Chinese regime. This makes sense when one considers that China, like the US, is capitalist, and that China, by the same token, offers little ideological challenge to US global leadership. Ironically, as China’s industrial might has grown, its ideological influence has diminished. Red China was never ideologically more powerful than in the heyday of Maoism, when China was much weaker. Back then, Red China sought to inspire a global guerrilla war among the Third World’s legions of poor peasants, also claiming the allegiance of student radicals on Western campuses. (Impressed by China, the Black Panthers notoriously sold copies of Mao’s Little Red Book in order to raise money for guns.)
Today, China’s infrastructural investments are helping those countries of the Global South convert their poor rural folk into urban city-dwellers. But former Western Maoists such as Bernard-Henri Lévy have become neo-conservatives, obsessed with bloody crusades to spread democracy to the Middle East, while China quietly consolidated its rise.
In Cold War 1.0, Maoist ideological excess compensated for China’s relative weakness when compared to the military might of Soviet Russia. Today the roles are reversed: it is Russia that now occupies the relatively weaker position in the new Sino-Russian alliance. Predictably enough, it is Russian leader Vladimir Putin, more than Chinese leader Xi Jinping who has put most effort in trying to cultivate his own state as an alternative ideological pole in the international system. Putin rails against Western hegemony and has tried to style himself as a champion of global conservatism and family values against the spread of transnational Western liberalism. Yet Putin’s ideological reach is even more limited than that of Chairman Mao. His posture is fundamentally reactive and defensive, and his cultural defence of the Orthodox Church and “Russian world” will, by its very nature, have limited reach beyond Russia itself. While Trump is slowly tightening the noose of anti-Russian sanctions in an effort to induce a ceasefire in Ukraine, it is unsurprising that the White House has expended so little effort in criticising Putin’s vision of the crabbed, distempered Russian bailiwick.
So where, if not between China and the US, or the US and Russia, can we find the key ideological battle line of Cold War 2.0? The line does not run so much between East and West as within the West itself: between the US and Europe. That the US is fighting an ideological cold war with Europe is most obvious in the diplomacy of Trump’s vice-president, J.D. Vance. Vance unleashed the opening volley in this ideological attack in his extraordinary speech delivered at the Munich Security Conference in February, when he calmly and methodically took apart the dismal record of European states on individual liberty and democratic rights. He criticised EU interference in the Romanian presidential elections of the previous year and even named the British anti-abortion activist Adam Smith-Connor, arrested in 2024 for silently praying outside an abortion clinic. In doing so, Vance adopted the same manner and tone that American leaders adopted when speaking out about the squashing of popular opposition in the Eastern bloc and the maltreatment of Soviet dissidents such as the physicist Andrei Sakharov or writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Following his speech, Vance met with Alternativ für Deutschland (AfD) leader Alice Weidel — a figure of obloquy for the European liberal orthodoxy. On his current holiday in the Cotswolds, Vance has not only once-again criticised the British record on free speech, he is also meeting Robert Jenrick — the dissident rival to the current Tory leader Kemi Badenoch.
When was the last time that a Chinese or Russian dissenter achieved the renown of Smith-Connor, by virtue of being cited in a speech by a major US political figure? The barbs do not come from Vance alone. Marco Rubio, Trump’s Secretary of State, has criticised the German state’s suppression of the national-populist AfD party as “tyranny in disguise”. EU leaders rallied together against Vance’s assault, with former German Chancellor Olaf Scholz defending continental restrictions on free speech. The German foreign office even took to X to criticise Rubio for interfering in Germany’s internal affairs. This is to say nothing of the years of bitter invective that have been hurled by European politicians and commentators against Trump ever since 2016. They have denounced him as a pro-Russian stooge, a demagogue and a fascist — only to downplay such remarks years later. Even Trump, who has mostly left the international ideological battles to Vance, embarrassed UK prime minister Keir Starmer on his recent private visit to Scotland. The mere mention of free speech by Trump was enough to induce gurning, tortured denials from Starmer.
There are some important differences between the former cold war and its new pan-Atlantic counterpart. When Western leaders denounced communism in the first cold war, they did so by arguing that the Soviets’ centralised economy, and appropriation of private property, was necessarily a totalitarian enterprise. Vance, by contrast, takes the Europeans to task for falling foul of their own ideals rather than realising some larger sinister purpose. More recently, he has also accused Europe of engaging in civilisational suicide through its unwillingness to halt mass migration. The historically unprecedented inflows represent not only a divergence from the legacy of the Western civilisation shared by the US and Europe, but a flouting of the elites’ democratic compact with their people. Repeatedly, voters have indicated their exasperation with the scale of mass migration; repeatedly, they have been ignored.
Vance’s ideological confidence, as he suggested in his speech in Munich, rests on the democratic mandate won by Trump. Barracked by Vance and his colleagues, European leaders react defensively, for they are more used to bureaucratic haggling in the committee rooms of Brussels than dealing with European voters. As with any cold war, both sides recoil from full-frontal assaults: they beat hasty retreats, seek to patch up relations and make assurances of enduring alliances. But there is no mistaking the underlying political drift.
This Euro-American ideological cold war reflects the underlying political and even economic divergence between the US and Europe. Not only does the EU cling to its outdated political model — that of a supranational trade bloc designed for the technocratic regulation of globalisation — it also remains ideologically and strategically committed to the economic policies of that bygone era, too. At the top of the EU’s agenda remain multilateral free trade deals, deindustrialisation and expensive renewables. By contrast, the Trump administration is wielding a strong democratic mandate in its effort to re-industrialise North America behind tariff barriers that penalise Europe. It is expanding its use of fossil fuels and reducing its reliance on renewable energy.
Ideological crusades abroad, including Vance’s, always reflect domestic needs. In this case, MAGA’s desire is to assert national interests over the liberal globalism championed by the Democrats. That Vance can afford to launch an ideological cold war on Europe reflects a hard material reality: Europe simply matters much less to the US in Cold War 2.0 than it did in the first cold war. Vance can afford to be so pointed in his criticisms of the liberal, globalist EU because he knows that Europe needs America more than America needs Europe. The EU is dependent on the US for both its security and its energy, but offers little to the US in its struggle with China.
Whereas the first cold war fused ideological and geopolitical rivalry into one great bipolar stand-off, Cold War 2.0 seems like it will be characterised by financial multipolarity (as the primacy of the dollar is gradually eroded), geopolitical bipolarity (between China and the US), and ideological tripolarity, between the populist-democratic US, the liberal-technocratic EU and a conservative Russia. As an island nation formally independent of the EU, Britain — like other middle powers — might find that this new world order is rich in opportunities. It also benefits from lower tariffs than those imposed on the EU. But seizing such opportunities also requires a willingness to duck and weave in pursuit of our national interest, and, so far, our stubbornly globalist uniparty has been unwilling to show much political dexterity. For Britain, as for many other states, seizing the national interest will require internal political renewal.
Philip Cunliffe is Associate Professor of International Relations at the Department of Risk and Disaster Reduction, University College London. He is the author of seven books, including, most recently: The National Interest: Politics after Globalization.
