Middle powers forge defensive alliances as Trump's unpredictability reshapes global order

The world's middle powers are quietly building a new architecture of alliances, one that pointedly excludes the United States. This shift is not ideological—it is practical, born from a calculation that the American security umbrella, once taken for granted, has become unreliable.

The catalyst is Donald Trump's second term and the expectation, shared by observers from Hillary Clinton to David Lammy, that he will intensify his disruptive foreign policy after November's midterms. With a Democrat-controlled Congress likely to block domestic initiatives, Trump is predicted to concentrate his energy abroad, pursuing even more aggressive and unpredictable moves. The UN secretary general António Guterres and others who have urged Trump that the US achieves more through alliance than alone are unlikely to be heard. What is coming, analysts warn, is more disruption, not less.

The response from allied nations has been swift and structural. Countries are forming what John Bew, a foreign policy adviser to four British prime ministers, calls a "sub-threshold international order"—a complex web of diplomatic, military, and trading alliances designed to insulate themselves from an unpredictable American president. Mark Leonard, director of the European Council of Foreign Relations, describes the shift plainly: nations are moving away from asking "How do we interoperate with American grand strategy?" toward asking "How do we defend ourselves if America isn't there?" The alliances thriving are those that exclude the US entirely. BRICS, the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation, and newly formed regional pacts are deepening their ties and expanding their reach.

The most striking recent example came on August 7, when Turkey, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia signed the Mecca pact—a defensive military alliance that signals the end of Gulf dependence on American military protection. The trigger was concrete and humbling. US bases in the Gulf, once thought to deter aggression, became magnets for Iranian missiles and drones. They were pummeled to the point, in the words of General David Petraeus, that they became "no longer viable." Worse, the US allowed Israel to bomb Doha, Qatar's capital, in an attempt to assassinate Hamas leadership—the first such attack on a Gulf Cooperation Council state. Qatar's foreign ministry spokesperson Majed al-Ansari stated plainly: "Gulf nations cannot rely solely on the US and other international alliances for their security. Self-sufficiency when it comes to security is the only way forward." For Saudi Arabia, endless wars promoted by Israel and unconstrained by Washington are a drag on Vision 2030, the kingdom's economic modernization plan.

Europe faces a parallel crisis. Poland, the Baltic states, and Scandinavia have increased defence spending by 71%, 134%, and 126% respectively since 2022. There are calls for a more Europeanized NATO, a constellation of the five main military powers—Germany, France, Italy, Poland, and the UK—working together to face Russia without assuming American protection. The Munich Security Conference has promoted this vision. Some European diplomats privately express relief that the US failed to repeat its Venezuela playbook in Iran, recognizing that reliance on American military supremacy carries risks they can no longer afford.

Canada, Trump's neighbor and now locked in an asymmetric trade war, confronts the American dilemma most acutely. Prime Minister Mark Carney urged at Davos in January that middle powers reorganize. But his message carried an ambiguity: was he seeking new markets blocked by US tariffs, or building a third bloc of like-minded liberal democracies? Bob Rae, a former Canadian ambassador to the UN, argued that Carney must be clearer about the values Canada stands for, including upholding international law. In a speech to the European Parliament, Carney suggested that associate EU membership would rest not just on economics but on shared values that Canada no longer shares with the US.

South Korea and Japan face similar pressures. In August, Trump abruptly scaled back Ulchi Freedom Shield, the annual joint military exercise meant to counter North Korea, cutting it from eleven days to five and citing costs and his desire to improve relations with Kim Jong-un. The move has intensified debate in both countries about pursuing independent nuclear weapons. For China, this friction is a gift—an opportunity to position itself as the more reliable ally.

Optimists like Kurt Campbell, who under Biden worked to reconstruct American alliances across Asia, insist the old order can be restored. By winter, he argues, hope and optimism will resurge. The counterview is starker: something fundamental has broken. Once bitten, twice shy, the transatlantic order will not return. What is taking shape is something new, less predictable, more fragmented—and it is already here.