GeoPrism

For much of modern history, geopolitics was mainly understood through the language of power. The relative strength of states rested on military capability, industrial capacity and technological innovation, as well as economic performance and diplomatic influence. While that logic remains an indispensable analytical framework, it is no longer sufficient on its own.

Today, a state’s ability to project power abroad depends not only on the resources it possesses but also on the cohesion of the society that underpins it— the capacity for collective action in pursuit of shared objectives and the  willingness to bear the associated costs and sacrifices.  

This new reality is becoming one of the most pressing strategic challenges confronting Western democracies. These nations retain considerable power, yet they increasingly struggle to translate it into sustained global influence. The reason lies not in a lack of resources, but in a growing difficulty in mobilising them effectively.

Many liberal democracies have long grappled with chronic political polarisation, declining trust in institutions and competing narratives of national identity. The resulting erosion of internal consensus has two far-reaching strategic consequences: it hampers decision-making and undermines their ability to devise coherent long-term responses.

Such responses, however, are indispensable in an international environment marked by intensifying competition and uncertainty, not least because of the rise of ever more assertive geopolitical rivals.

When a shared sense of destiny fades at home, a nation’s influence wanes abroad. In other words, domestic cohesion now stands as a  geopolitical variable in its own right.

The End of the Domestic-Foreign Divide

This recognition marks a significant shift in how we should think about international politics. Strategic competition no longer unfolds only between states. It also unfolds within them, where political fragmentation can shape foreign  policy as profoundly as external threats.

The transformation has been driven in part by decades of globalisation. Growing economic interdependence and expanding cross-border flows of people, information and ideas have made democratic societies far more open — and therefore more permeable — to external influences than in the past.

Across the West, the centre of gravity of geopolitical confrontation is moving beyond territory to include society itself.  

The United States offers perhaps the clearest illustration.

For much of the post-war period, American foreign policy rested upon a broad bipartisan consensus. Successive administrations could disagree over tactics, but the country’s alliances, global commitments and overall direction remained remarkably stable. 

That continuity has weakened dramatically. 

The rise of the MAGA movement has turned commitment to NATO, military assistance to Ukraine and even the role of international institutions into intensely contested domestic issues. Foreign policy is no longer insulated from  internal political conflict; it has become one of its principal battlegrounds. 

As allies increasingly hedge against the possibility of abrupt policy reversals in Washington, those adjustments themselves feed into the domestic debate, reinforcing competing narratives advanced by advocates of strategic  retrenchment and defenders of continued American global leadership. This deepening divide risks making US foreign policy even more volatile.

Britain illustrates the same phenomenon from another angle. 

On the surface, Brexit was often analysed as a highly polarised debate over sovereignty and relations with the  European Union. Yet its geopolitical consequences have  extended far beyond the institutional mechanics of  withdrawal. Years of political deadlock have consumed governmental attention, weakened Britain’s international standing and undermined its ability to pursue a consistent long-term strategy. 

The geopolitical consequences of Brexit have, in turn, contributed to renewed domestic political tensions, reinvigorating debates over Scottish independence and  the constitutional future of Northern Ireland. 

In a 2024 interview with ITN, former MI6 chief Sir Alex Younger went so far as to warn that Brexit risked making the United Kingdom “irrelevant” on the world stage. Whether or not one shares that judgement, his warning reflected a broader reality: Britain’s domestic divisions  have become a geopolitical liability. 

France presents a different, but equally revealing, case. 

Questions of national identity have grown increasingly divisive in French politics. Large-scale immigration, the emergence of a more multicultural society and broader socio-economic transformations shaped by globalisation and technological change have profoundly altered the country’s social fabric, eroding many of the shared narratives upon which domestic consensus once rested. 

As a result, major international developments are no  longer interpreted primarily through the traditional  frameworks of French foreign policy. Instead, debates  over Gaza, Iran, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the return of  Donald Trump and the future of Europe’s security architecture are also filtered through partisan, ideological, religious and communal lenses. 

Those divergent perspectives can, at times, foster political alignments or expressions of solidarity with foreign actors whose interests do not necessarily coincide with those of France. Group loyalties are gradually taking precedence over a shared understanding of the national interest. 

Democratic Cohesion as Strategic Infrastructure

Taken together, these examples point to a bigger picture.  

Domestic divisions increasingly complicate the management of international crises, while the latter further deepen domestic fragmentation. The resulting feedback loop places effective statecraft under mounting strain. 

Democratic governments can no longer assume that  foreign policy begins where domestic politics end. The two spheres are now deeply interconnected, and strategic autonomy depends as much upon political cohesion at home as upon military capability abroad. 

This calls for a broader understanding of what we mean by strategic infrastructure. 

Traditionally, that term has referred to tangible assets essential to national security: industrial capacity, ports, transport networks, energy grids, communications and digital systems. States invest enormous resources  protecting these critical assets because they understand that without them national power cannot function effectively. Reflecting this logic, Western governments devote growing attention to protecting undersea cables, satellite capabilities, cyber networks and energy security. 

Yet every democracy also depends upon a far less visible form of infrastructure. 

Institutional legitimacy, civic trust and a shared sense of democratic belonging form the social architecture that enables governments to take difficult decisions, pursue long-term policies and mobilise national resources when necessary. 

Unlike physical infrastructure, these foundations cannot be  rebuilt quickly once they begin to erode. Nor can they be restored simply through technological innovation or increased defence spending. 

Western governments still rarely apply strategic logic to democratic cohesion itself, despite the fact that it  underpins every other instrument of national power. 

This may prove to be one of the defining blind spots of twenty-first-century democratic geopolitics.  

That blind spot has not gone unnoticed by the West’s strategic competitors. 

Countries such as Russia, China or Iran have recognised that weakening a democracy’s internal cohesion may prove far more effective than engaging in conventional  military confrontation. 

The openness that has long been one of liberal democracy’s defining strengths has created new opportunities for them to do so. 

Their primary objective is not necessarily to persuade democratic societies to embrace authoritarian ideas. Rather, it is to deepen divisions, magnify mutual distrust  and make stable political consensus progressively harder to achieve. The less cohesive democratic societies become, the more difficult they find it to articulate effective responses. 

Hybrid Warfare and the Exploitation of Democratic Vulnerability 

This logic lies at the heart of contemporary hybrid warfare: rather than creating entirely new political fractures, such approaches seek to exploit those that already exist. Issues such as immigration, race, historical memory, economic  inequality and rival conceptions of national identity serve as key points of entry precisely because they are deeply contested within democratic societies. External actors rarely manufacture these disagreements; they amplify them. 

Russia has drawn on the Soviet Union’s sophisticated understanding of this practice to push its own agenda. During the Cold War, Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev was widely credited with declaring that the USSR would destroy America “from within” and “without firing a shot”.

Although the precise wording and attribution remain disputed, the quotation accurately reflects Moscow’s logic of political subversion pursued through active measures. Soviet strategists understood that influence was more  effective when it exploited real grievances and  antagonisms. Since the advent of Vladimir Putin, their  Russian heirs have followed in their footsteps.  

Russia’s interference in the 2016 US presidential election provides a textbook illustration. US intelligence assessments concluded that the Kremlin sought to favour Donald Trump’s candidacy over Hillary Clinton’s and, more fundamentally, to exacerbate political and social divisions within the United States.  

Disinformation campaigns, coordinated social media activity, and the amplification of polarising narratives through online platforms and state-controlled media outlets such as RT and Sputnik were not ends in themselves. Rather, they formed part of a broader effort to  erode America’s national resilience.

Brexit reflects a similar dynamic. Although the extent of Russian influence on the referendum remains contested, the Kremlin’s underlying incentive is far less ambiguous. Any development capable of deepening political fragmentation within one of the West’s principal powers served Moscow’s long-term interests, regardless of the  referendum’s ultimate outcome. 

China generally favours more discreet methods. Alongside economic leverage and technological dependence, Beijing  has increasingly been accused of exploiting digital platforms as instruments of geopolitical influence. 

The controversy surrounding TikTok highlights growing Western concerns that algorithmic curation may itself be weaponised not only to collect vast amounts of data but also to amplify narratives that widen social and political  rifts and shape electoral outcomes. 

Why Current Responses Fall Short 

Western governments have not remained passive in the  face of these challenges. Cybersecurity is now a major national priority. Intelligence services devote growing resources to countering foreign interference. 

The European Union has adopted the Digital Services Act and is developing a European Democracy Shield. In the United States, the FBI has expanded its counter-foreign influence operations, while the Foreign Malign Influence Center coordinates intelligence efforts against state sponsored information campaigns. 

Governments across Europe and North America have also strengthened cooperation to protect elections and expose foreign influence networks. 

These measures are necessary. They are also insufficient. 

Most tend to treat the vectors through which hostile influence travels rather than the conditions that make democratic societies vulnerable to it in the first place. Disinformation spreads most effectively where institutional trust has already weakened. Foreign propaganda resonates most strongly where democratic belonging has  already begun to erode. No amount of content moderation, cyber defence or fact-checking can by itself restore the civic confidence upon which democratic resilience ultimately depends. 

That brings us back to what is at stake. Western democracies now need to devote equal attention to  preserving the social infrastructure that underpins their  political legitimacy. Without it, economic resilience, technological innovation and military readiness cannot deliver their full strategic potential. 

A New Dimension of Geopolitical Power 

None of this implies political conformity. Liberal democracy depends upon pluralism and disagreement. The fundamental question is whether citizens continue to recognise the legitimacy of the institutions through which  those disagreements are managed. 

A democracy divided over taxation or welfare policy remains fully capable of acting strategically abroad. A democracy divided over the legitimacy of elections, the authority of its institutions or the meaning of national  identity may gradually lose that capacity. 

For generations, geopolitics began at the border. It no longer does. 

The first line of strategic defence is increasingly the cohesion of the society behind it. 

Democracies that do not acknowledge this may continue to invest in armies, technology and alliances; yet without the support of the social infrastructure on which all else ultimately depends, such investments will amount to little.

Marc Naigeon is a published author and independent analyst whose research and writing explore the intersection of international relations, democratic  governance and contemporary geopolitical transformations. He graduated with honours from Sciences Po Paris, worked as a journalist on the international economics desk of the French national daily Le Figaro, and taught economic history in France’s prestigious preparatory classes for admission to the  country’s leading business schools. He is the co-author of four history textbooks published by Presses Universitaires de France.