“The world is not rebalancing… it is fragmenting.”

We have grown accustomed to repeating the term “multipolar” as if history is gently correcting itself, as if power will finally be distributed after decades of dominance. But the truth I want to share is less comforting and far more complex. What we are witnessing is not a new balance emerging from conflict, but rather a structural fragmentation: power is spreading across many actors, while the ability to shape the global order remains strongly concentrated in the hands of a very few.

I would like to present four central reflections that have shaped my analysis:

First reflection: we like to believe that the world is moving toward balance. The idea of “multipolarity” carries a quiet promise of fairness: no one dominates, and every power has something to counterbalance it. But this comforting narrative does not describe what is actually happening. A true multipolar system requires powers that are roughly equal in technological capability, economic depth, military strength, cultural influence, and—above all—the ability to set and rewrite the rules of the international system.

Instead, we see dozens of influential states, but the number of true poles remains extremely limited—sometimes only one.

Power is spreading, but it is not equal. Conflicts are multiplying, yet no actor possesses the full legitimacy or capacity to resolve them or impose a lasting order.

We confuse surface movement—industrial expansion here, military assertion there, the rise of regional players—with structural change. We confuse appearance with capability, and presence with dominance.

This is a dangerous misunderstanding. States overestimate their own weight and underestimate others, building policies on inaccurate assumptions. Misperception turns into miscalculation, and miscalculation leads to poor decisions whose consequences may echo for decades.

Second reflection: Why does American dominance persist?

Not every form of hegemony is temporary. Some powers fade because their sources of strength are finite: exhausted land, depleted resources, defeated armies. The American model works differently. It is not built on a stockpile of power, but on a continuous, self-renewing system that constantly produces power.

Its universities redefine knowledge. Its companies transform that knowledge into products and platforms that reshape markets. Its capital markets absorb risk and turn innovation into wealth. That wealth, in turn, funds new knowledge. The cycle does not merely accumulate—it regenerates.

The gap between the United States and the rest of the world remains wide—perhaps wider than public discourse suggests. The United States still produces about a quarter of global economic output. American companies represent more than 70% of the market value of the world’s largest tech firms. In artificial intelligence and advanced computing, U.S. investment alone exceeds the combined spending of the rest of the world.

In the age of artificial intelligence, this advantage is decisive. AI does not merely add power—it multiplies all existing forms of power: scientific research, decision-making, economic systems, and global influence.

The result is not convergence, but divergence. The gap is not narrowing—it is widening. Lagging behind is no longer a fixed condition, but a continuous and cumulative relative decline.

What we are witnessing, then, is not a simple transition from one dominant power to several equal ones, but a different configuration of the global order, where power is unevenly distributed and competition unfolds across multiple domains.

Third reflection: incomplete global projects

China has achieved one of the greatest catch-up successes in modern history. In just a few decades, it moved from the margins to becoming the world’s second-largest economy, a global manufacturing hub with vast export networks, massive infrastructure, and an unparalleled domestic market. But global leadership requires more than scale. It demands the ability to generate ideas, not merely absorb and refine them; to set rules, not just operate within them.

China is approaching the summit—but approaching is not arriving.

Russia is a military power without economic or technological depth—capable of disrupting international crises, but not of leading the global system.

Europe possesses enormous economic and regulatory influence, but is constrained by fragmented strategic decision-making and the absence of unified political will.

India carries great promise, supported by sustained growth, yet still faces deep internal constraints related to inequality, infrastructure, and uneven development.

The global picture, then, is rich in partial powers, poor in complete poles, and even poorer in genuine strategic cooperation among them.

Fourth reflection: a new definition of power

Power is no longer what it was in previous centuries. It is no longer something stored in military arsenals or measured solely by territory or GDP. It has become a complex, living system—a dynamic interaction among four interconnected elements: knowledge, technology, the economy, and political decision-making, all grounded in available and latent human capabilities.

None of these elements functions in isolation. Knowledge without technology remains an idea. Technology without economic support remains an unfunded possibility. An economy without political direction becomes wealth without purpose. Political will without knowledge or economic foundation becomes little more than loud intent.

This leads us to a crucial distinction: between productive power and consumptive power.

Productive power creates its own tools, develops alternatives, builds relative independence, and generates the conditions for its own continuity. Consumptive power depends on what others produce. It may appear formidable for a time—especially if supported by wealth, geography, or external backing—but it remains fragile because its continuity lies beyond its control.

True power, then, is not possession. It is composition, management, and balance. It is the wisdom to know when to accelerate and when to restrain, when to expand and when to consolidate. The strongest actors are not necessarily those who possess the most, but those who can preserve what they have, expand it, and prevent it from becoming a source of strain, arrogance, or strategic blindness.

Beneath all these structural reflections lies the unavoidable question that returns in every era: how do we understand power, and how do we use it?

Power is neither inherently good nor inherently evil. It is a tool that reveals more than it grants, and exposes more than it conceals. History teaches us that nations do not fall only when they weaken, but also when they misunderstand their strength—when they confuse expansion with permanence, power with wisdom, and prestige with anxiety about the future.

On April 8, 1970, during the War of Attrition, Israeli aircraft turned the Bahr El-Baqar Primary School in Egypt’s Sharqia Governorate into a military target. The raid resulted in the killing of 46 children and the injury of more than 30 others, bringing the total number of child victims to around 80 dead and wounded. The children were sitting in their classrooms, dreaming of a better future, when the bombs rained down on them. There was no real military target inside the school, and to this day, Israel has not issued an official apology commensurate with the scale of the crime.

Today, exactly 56 years later, the tragic scene is repeated on February 28, 2026. In the city of Minab, in Iran’s Hormozgan Province, U.S.-made Tomahawk missiles (as part of a joint U.S.-Israeli operation) targeted the “Good Tree” primary school for girls. The students—mostly girls aged between 7 and 12—were inside their classrooms. The strike resulted in the deaths of between 165 and 180 people, most of them children, and dozens more were injured. There was no apology here either. Not from Washington, nor from Tel Aviv.

A never-ending chain… massacres of children narrate a single philosophy.

Bahr El-Baqar and Minab are but two حلقات (links) in a long chain of massacres in which schools and shelters have been turned into legitimate targets, without any meaningful apology or serious international accountability.

On April 18, 1996, during Operation “Grapes of Wrath,” Israeli artillery shelled a UNIFIL compound in Qana, southern Lebanon, where around 800 Lebanese civilians had taken refuge. The attack killed 106 people, nearly half of them children (52 children), despite the site being internationally protected and well known. A United Nations investigation stated that the attack was “unlikely to be a technical error,” yet Israel claimed it was a mistake and did not issue a formal apology acknowledging responsibility. Western reactions were limited to muted condemnations that quickly faded.

A decade later, on July 30, 2006, tragedy struck Qana again: Israeli aircraft bombed a residential building sheltering displaced people, killing at least 28 individuals (16 of them children), with early reports suggesting higher numbers. Images of children pulled from the rubble sparked temporary global outrage that led to a partial halt in strikes, but once again, no apology was issued, and the attack was justified by claims of “military targets” without conclusive independent evidence.

In Gaza, targeting schools has become a recurring pattern. In 2009, the bombing of the Al-Fakhoura school, run by UNRWA, killed more than 40 people, many of them children. Between 2023 and 2025, attacks on schools such as Al-Fakhoura, Tal al-Zaatar, and others resulted in hundreds of deaths—most of them children and women.

This pattern is not limited to “isolated incidents,” but reflects a double standard that undermines the moral credibility of the international system and turns children’s wounds into fuel for a collective memory that does not forget.

What connects Bahr El-Baqar and Minab, separated by 56 years and thousands of kilometers—and all that came before and between them?

The answer is simple and harsh: an unchanging philosophy. A philosophy that turns the school—symbol of education and the future—into a legitimate target for bombardment. A philosophy that sees children as “acceptable collateral damage,” or ignores their protection under international humanitarian law, which prohibits targeting civilians and educational institutions.

Bahr El-Baqar 1970: a wound that never healed

Egypt was in the midst of the War of Attrition, defending its sovereignty after the 1967 defeat. The school was a clear target despite the absence of any military activity within it. The victims were ordinary Egyptian children. Israel claimed there was a nearby target, but did not issue a formal apology acknowledging the crime. The Western world at the time took a passive stance: some muted condemnations, followed by silence. No sanctions were imposed, and no one was held accountable.

Minab 2026: repetition of tragedy with more advanced technology

In the context of a U.S.-Israeli military escalation against Iran, the strike came on the first day of the operation. Precision missiles hit the school directly during school hours. Yet the United States—which confirmed responsibility for missile launches in southern Iran—did not issue a public apology commensurate with the victims. Israel denied responsibility altogether despite the joint nature of the operation.

Hundreds of children were killed or injured, and not a single word of apology or remorse was heard. This is the most painful similarity.

Disregard for humanity is a continuing pattern. In both cases, schools were not military targets, but symbols of life and future. The victims were innocent children, and the perpetrator is the same: Israel, and the U.S.-Israeli alliance. The outcome is the same: a collective wound in human memory.

This philosophy reflects a strategic vision that sees “military power” as justification for everything—even the killing of children in their classrooms. It is a philosophy that empties humanity of meaning and turns wars into massacres that do not distinguish between combatant and civilian.

The American-Israeli actions and the international response evoke deep sorrow. The United States, which directly participated in the Minab strike, has shown no genuine will for independent investigation or accountability. The Western world—often claiming to defend human rights—has largely limited itself to muted statements or complete silence.

Does the killing of children become “acceptable” when the perpetrator is a strategic ally? This question forces itself forward, revealing a double standard that strips the West of its moral credibility.

The lessons and implications are many. On the anniversary of Bahr El-Baqar, and in the face of fresh blood in Minab, and what is happening in Lebanon and Gaza, we must realize that silence encourages the perpetrator. The wound does not fade from memory, but transforms into a global cry for justice.

The international community must:

• Form an independent investigation committee into the Minab massacre
• Pressure for official recognition and apology for Bahr El-Baqar
• Consider the protection of schools and children in all conflicts a non-negotiable red line

From Bahr El-Baqar to Minab, schools tell one story: children pay the price for a philosophy that does not respect humanity. If this pattern does not change, every school in the world could become a target tomorrow. Memory does not forget. History records. And the enduring question remains: when will the world stop treating children’s blood as “passing news”?

To understand, I read, gathered information, analyzed, and now I share what I’ve concluded.

Many believe that Iran is capable—if it chooses—of closing the Strait of Hormuz. This idea is frequently repeated in political and media analyses, as if it were purely a military matter that could be settled by a decision or direct naval action.

But the reality may be more complex—and more revealing about the nature of the modern world.

The Strait of Hormuz—one of the most critical energy arteries in the world—was not closed this time by warships, missiles, or a naval blockade. What happened was something entirely different: insurance companies stopped the movement.

Not through a direct political decision, but through a technical financial decision made by insurance and reinsurance companies that manage risk in global maritime shipping.

According to the information I gathered, around 107 large cargo ships typically pass through the Strait of Hormuz daily, carrying oil and gas that global economies depend on. These ships represent the lifelines of energy to Asia, Europe, and beyond.

But in recent days, the number dropped to around 19 ships.

A collapse in traffic of nearly 81%.

This didn’t happen because of a naval battle, but because of one decision: the withdrawal of insurance coverage.

To understand what happened, we must understand how the global shipping system works. About 90% of the world’s ships are insured through roughly a dozen maritime insurance institutions, which in turn rely on global reinsurance markets—most of which are centered in London.

When war risks rise in a region, reinsurance companies reassess the situation. If they determine that the risks have become too high, they may withdraw coverage.

And then something simple but decisive happens: without insurance, ships cannot sail.

No shipowner is willing to risk a vessel worth hundreds of millions of dollars without insurance protection.

Thus, the Strait of Hormuz was not closed by a military fleet—it was effectively shut down by calculations on a computer screen inside an insurance company.

But the more important question is not how shipping stopped, but who is actually affected.

The first to be impacted is Iran itself.

Most of Iran’s oil exports pass through the Strait of Hormuz. If shipping is disrupted, its ability to export oil drops sharply, cutting off one of its most vital sources of income—especially during times of tension and conflict.

In other words, the “oil weapon” often seen as leverage for Iran may turn into a burden on it first.

The second most exposed party is China.

China relies heavily on energy passing through this strait. Around 40% of its oil imports go through Hormuz, and about 90% of Iranian oil exports are directed to China. In addition, liquefied natural gas shipments from Qatar to China pass through the same route.

Therefore, any prolonged disruption in this vital corridor shakes one of the pillars of China’s energy security, which explains its quick calls for de-escalation.

The third affected party is the Gulf states themselves.

Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Qatar, Kuwait, and Iraq depend heavily on this maritime route to export oil and gas to the world. Around 20 million barrels of oil pass through the strait daily, and there are no real alternatives capable of handling this massive volume.

In the background of this scene, a less visible yet highly influential force emerges: the British financial system.

London has been a global hub for maritime insurance for centuries—from the famous Lloyd’s market to major reinsurance firms. This gives it indirect but powerful influence.

When insurance companies in London decide that risks are too high, global trade can freeze—without a single shot being fired.

Does anyone benefit from this situation?

In the short term, Russia may benefit. If Gulf oil exports slow down, global prices rise, making Russian oil more attractive—especially in Asia.

As for countries like India, which import around 85% of their oil needs, any disruption in the Strait of Hormuz means higher shipping costs and rising oil prices, putting pressure on inflation and the economy.

While India diversifies its sources between the Gulf, Russia, and others, prolonged instability in this vital route ultimately means everyone pays the price.

The bigger lesson is that geopolitics in today’s world is no longer driven solely by presidents, generals, or even aircraft carriers.

Often, the course of events is shaped by less visible but more powerful systems: insurance mechanisms, financial markets, and global energy networks.

Missiles may make headlines,

but risk models in insurance companies sometimes decide whether global trade moves… or stops.

It is a world no longer controlled by states alone, but also by the systems that manage risk, money, and energy.

And sometimes, a quiet financial decision in an office in London… is enough to change the movement of the world.

“I did not always win… but I always learned.”

What shapes a person in life is not what they gain, but what they lose. Success may add an achievement to our record, but it rarely adds wisdom to our awareness. It is the moments of failure—those small or great defeats we pass through in silence or bitterness—that open within us the great questions: Who are we? And what path were we truly meant to follow?

When we are at the heart of a painful experience, we feel as though the world has narrowed, and that a door leading to our future has been closed forever. But as time passes, it reveals that life is wiser than our plans, and that the path that closed was not the end of the journey, but often a hidden turn leading us to another road—one we might never have discovered had things gone as we wished.

With the passing of years, a person realizes a simple yet profound truth:
that some of what once felt like injustice was, in essence, a lesson, and that some of what we thought was defeat was actually the beginning of our true formation.

A person is not shaped only by what they achieve, but by what they learn from stumbling, and by what they discover about themselves when forced to rise after a fall they did not choose.

These words are not a story of success as much as they are a reflection on those moments that once seemed like loss, but later proved to be the hidden building blocks that shaped who I am.

Life, as I have learned over the years, cannot be understood from its first lines, nor judged from a single moment of pain or loss. Often, days conceal a wisdom we only see later—when we realize that what we thought was a fall was actually the beginning of another path… one we had not planned, but one far broader than we imagined.

I write these words to every young man and woman going through doubt or discouragement, to anyone who believes that losing a battle means the end of a dream. The truth is that life is not measured by a single moment of victory or defeat, but by the experience that accumulates within us, shaping a more mature and understanding self.

When I look back on my early years in medical school, I remember that my dream was clear and simple: to become a surgeon. I studied with passion and achieved excellence in all subjects. But during the oral exam in surgery, a professor deliberately failed me.

It was no secret. The intention was to lower my grade in order to make room for someone else.

It was a harsh moment for a young man who saw his future taking shape. I felt that a door had suddenly closed, and that a great dream had been taken away by a decision unrelated to effort or merit.

But life was writing another chapter I could not yet see.

After graduation, driven by disappointment—and perhaps the desire to start fresh—I decided to move to the United States. I passed the required exams and secured a residency position in surgery at Northwestern University in Chicago. The position was to begin after six months, and I did not want to waste that time, so I applied for a temporary residency in obstetrics and gynecology at Kasr Al-Ainy Hospital.

And there, the same scenario repeated itself.

I was excluded from the position.

At that moment, it was not just about a job—it was about dignity. I was not even particularly interested in the specialty, but I decided to defend my academic right. The issue escalated to the media and eventually reached the dean, who initially reprimanded me for what he saw as defiance. But when he reviewed the grades, he found my case justified. A decision was made to increase the number of positions, and I was accepted as a resident in obstetrics and gynecology.

I thought I would stay in that department for only a few months—until my travel date to the United States.

But life had another surprise.

During those months, I began to discover the depth of this human-centered field. I witnessed the moments of birth and the responsibility of a physician at the most delicate stages of human existence. Gradually, I found myself drawn to it, until I made a decision I had never planned: to stay.

From that decision began an entirely new journey.

The specialty I had entered by coincidence became the field to which I devoted my life. I earned the highest academic degrees, later traveled to the United States for a doctorate and worked at universities in Detroit and Chicago, then returned to Egypt to continue my professional and academic career.

When I look back at that moment in the surgery exam, I realize that the injustice I felt was not the end of the road—it was the turning point that led me to who I became.

This was not the only such experience in my life. I faced similar situations in politics as well, and in every case, I emerged stronger and more capable.

Life has taught me a lesson that repeats itself in many forms:

Not everything that appears to be bad is truly bad.
And not every closed door means the end of the road.

Sometimes what we consider a loss is the very path that leads us to our true selves. And sometimes the injustice we face is the spark that awakens a strength we never knew we had.

So I say to every young man and woman:

Do not drown in a moment of defeat. Do not let losing a single battle mean losing life itself.

Reflect on the experience, learn from it, and allow time to reveal what you could not see in the moment.

For life does not shape us through moments of success alone, but through moments of resilience after breaking.

And if each of us looks honestly at our life, we will discover that much of what we once thought was bad… was in fact the beginning of a good we never expected.

On this Mother’s Day, I stand before every mother in my life with a heart full of gratitude and pride…

They are not just mothers; they are silent strength, continuous wisdom, and an endless love that shapes us day after day.

First: Mothers of this new generation…
Those who face daily criticism, yet continue to raise, work, provide, stay up late, and still smile.
You are true heroes in my eyes…

Women who care for their homes, support their families, work tirelessly morning and evening, spend, nurture, teach, prepare food, clothes, and books, take their children to training and private lessons—all while managing their own jobs.

They are the same women who carry, give birth, nurse, and stay awake through countless nights—day after day, hour after hour.

Next—without ranking—is my daughter, whom I call “my happy thoughts.”
She is optimistic, smiling, and beautiful in both appearance and spirit.

She accompanies her daughters, encourages them to exercise, attends their physical training and music lessons, shares every moment of their lives, participates in all their school activities, reads with and to them, and fills her family’s life with joy and knowledge.

Because she is a beautiful soul, she has devoted part of her efforts to supporting children with diabetes and their mothers, helping them avoid the long-term complications of the disease.

I look at her and say: this is a woman worthy of being a role model.
She neither gave up nor collapsed when faced with illness, but confronted it with a smile and triumphed with determination—without burdening those around her with her struggles.

Dalia is a mother through emotion, knowledge, positive support, and constant presence.
She knows when to step in and when to give her children freedom.

In my view, she is an ideal mother—and I am proud of her.

The third—and first—is my wife…

Every mother loves, protects, nurtures, and gives without expecting anything in return—that is what makes a mother.
But my wife wrapped her motherhood in friendship, without pressure or formality.

She is present in her children’s lives by their desire and joy.
The first thing they think of after any event—happy or painful—is to call her.
She is safety without words, comfort without noise, and a space where they can express themselves freely.

I say to her, as a witness, that this is her greatest achievement in life:
their emotional balance, their integrity, their behavior, and their relationships—all are the result of her continuous love.

When our grandchildren came—like birds singing in the sky of our lives—she became an extraordinary grandmother: loving, wise, present, and responsible, without overstepping.

As a husband and father, I know that much of the love our children have for me is thanks to a mother who nurtured in them everything beautiful.

I love you, thank you, respect you, and appreciate you.

The fourth—without order—is my sister…

She is strong, supportive—like a thousand men.
A sister who is kind, a friend, and passionate is a blessing.

She is a source of affection and strength, a constant presence across time.
A scientist, a doctor, and a caretaker for everyone in the family.

No one has her level of influence or presence.
She is always available, always supportive, and the first person every mother thinks of in moments of need.

She is the wall of support for every small family within our big one—not just because of her knowledge, but because of the comfort she brings.

Even as children grow, she remains their doctor, their beloved, their mother.

She is my sister, my first friend, and my lifelong support.

And the mother of all mothers—my mother…

She is the dearest, closest to my mind, soul, and heart.

How did she manage to be this gentle melody in our lives—without noise, without ever asking for anything?

She was the source of love, harmony, joy, and connection among us.
Without interference, she remained a meaningful presence in each of our lives.

Her love for our father was a model for every wife.
Her calmness and contentment quietly shaped us.

Without asking, she made being around her a joy.

She is my beautiful mother—the most beautiful in our family.
In her elegance, silence, and smile.

I loved you, I love you, and I miss you after your passing…

I love your calmness, your patience, your acceptance.
I love your quiet strength through the years—without complaint.

You were and still are the inspiration of our hearts.

I am not writing poetry about my mother—I am simply describing her as she is.
And my words will never do her justice.

We gravitated toward her without being called, and when we met her, her smile filled us—without blame or reproach.

On Mother’s Day—one of the dearest occasions to my heart—I say to every mother in my family and among my friends:
Happy Mother’s Day.

When the United Nations was founded in 1945, after two world wars that tore humanity apart, it was not merely a bureaucratic institution. It was the expression of a deep human dream: that the tragedy should never be repeated.
The first declared goal was the preservation of international peace and security, and the prevention of war through a collective system based on international law. The organization was not created to be an international charity, but to be a bold historical attempt to subject power to ethics, or at least to a shared legal framework capable of restraining it.

After the Second World War, the world realized that leaving power without moral restraint inevitably leads to destruction. The UN project was therefore an expression of a new human awareness: that power, no matter how great, must be limited by the idea of justice.

Today, after nearly eight decades, we have the right to ask:
Has it succeeded?

The objective answer is neither an absolute yes nor a complete failure.

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First: Failure in Preserving International Security

It cannot be denied that the organization has failed to prevent major wars and prolonged conflicts.
The Security Council, the political heart of the system, has become hostage to the balance of power among the five permanent members, where the veto is used to block decisions at critical moments. This institutional paralysis has made the organization appear powerless in the face of major crises.

The flaw here is not in the idea of the United Nations itself, but in the political structure of the Security Council, which reflects the balance of power of 1945, not the world of today.

The United Nations was not designed to stand above the great powers, but as a result of their agreements. When these powers clash, the institution freezes.

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Second: Power Is Not Evil… but It Is Blind

In political theory, a distinction is always made between power as a tool and power as a goal.
When power becomes a goal in itself, it loses its moral dimension.
When it is restrained by agreed rules, it becomes a guarantee of stability.

The Security Council represents this permanent tension.
The five major powers were not given veto power because they were more moral, but because they were — and still are — the strongest.

In other words, the international system did not abolish power; it acknowledged it and tried to contain it.
The problem is that containment has sometimes turned into domination.

When the Security Council fails to make a decision because of conflicting interests among major powers, the failure is not technical, but philosophical.
It is a failure to balance the scale of power with the scale of justice.

This raises a fundamental question:
Can an international system be moral if it is built upon an unequal distribution of power?

Reality tells us that ignoring power is an illusion, but ignoring ethics is a catastrophe.

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Third: Achievements That Must Not Be Denied

Limiting the evaluation of the United Nations to the security file alone is an unfair reduction.
Under the UN umbrella operate institutions and programs that have changed the lives of hundreds of millions, such as:

• The World Health Organization, which led campaigns against epidemics and global vaccination programs.

• UNESCO, which preserved human heritage and supported education and culture.

• UNICEF, which works to protect children in areas of war and poverty.

• The United Nations Development Programme, which supports sustainable development in developing countries.

This humanitarian and developmental system has not failed.
It has evolved and proven effective in health, education, environment, and poverty reduction.

The developmental and humanitarian side operates in a space less dominated by hard power.
In this space, ethics can move more freely.

Health, education, development — fields where the desire for domination recedes in favor of common interest.

It is as if the UN system succeeded where the struggle for power weakened, and failed where it intensified.

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Fourth: Why the Solution Should Not Be Destruction

Calling for the dismantling of the international system would in practice mean returning to a world governed by raw balances of power without a unifying legal framework.

The alternative is not a perfect system, but an international vacuum that may be far more chaotic.

History teaches us that international institutions are not easily destroyed and replaced by better ones.
They are often demolished in moments of anger, then missed in moments of chaos.

The existence of a weak institution that can be reformed is better than its absence.
Even in its weakness, the UN remains a symbolic moral space reminding the world that there is a law higher than cannons.

Destruction is not a solution —
it is a victory for naked power: temporary alliances, arms races, and interests without a shared framework.

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Fifth: What Does the International System Need?

Reform, not demolition.

Among the most important paths for development:

• Reforming the Security Council to reflect current global balances

• Reviewing the veto mechanism or restricting its use in cases of mass crimes

• Strengthening the role of the General Assembly as a broader representation of international will

• Linking security to development, since poverty and injustice are roots of many conflicts

• Integrating new actors from civil society and regional organizations into decision-making mechanisms

Reform is not an administrative luxury.
It is a historical necessity — and a moral act — to restore people’s trust in the international system.

Reforming the Security Council, reviewing the veto, expanding representation — all these steps help rebalance the relationship between power and legitimacy.

Legitimacy is not the opposite of power; it is the source of its sustainability.
Power that lacks moral legitimacy eventually becomes a burden on its owner before it becomes a burden on others.

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Between Political Realism and Moral Idealism

The United Nations is an attempt to reconcile two schools:

• The realist school, which sees states as acting according to interests, not values

• The idealist school, which relies on international law and human conscience

It is neither pure idealism nor pure realism.
It is a historical compromise between them.

But whenever the global balance of power shifts, this compromise trembles.

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Conclusion

The real question is not:
Did the United Nations fail?

But rather:
Has the world succeeded in raising its political awareness to the level of the UN idea?

The United Nations is not independent from the will of states; it is their mirror.
When it fails, it reflects a flaw in international awareness, not merely an institutional flaw.

The UN has not failed as a comprehensive human system,
but it has stumbled in its most important political function: preserving international peace and security.

This stumbling does not require destruction, but courageous revision.

The organization is not a concrete building that can be demolished and rebuilt.
It is a network of relationships, interests, and legal frameworks that form the minimum order in a world naturally inclined toward conflict.

The struggle between power and ethics will remain as long as humanity exists.
But the value of the UN project is that it made this struggle visible, subject to debate and law — not to bullets alone.

In a time when nationalism, populism, isolation, and geopolitical confrontations are rising,
developing the international system becomes a civilizational and moral necessity before it is a political choice.