Next year, 2026, is the 250th anniversary of the American Declaration of Independence. Compared to the rest of the world, the United States is still in its infancy. But with the upcoming Quarter Millennium, we should reflect on our country’s history. What does it mean to be an American in the 21st century? Revisiting the rise of America, from its beginnings as a spattering of British colonies to its modern status as a global superpower, can help us understand American values, principles, and visions of world order. 

This summer, I traveled to the UK with the Clements Center for National Security to study the emergence of America on the global stage as it intertwined with the decline of the British Empire. Having spent one month exploring a foreign country, I, naturally, returned only to write about the US. Still, I’m grateful for the experiences the London program provided. On day one, we had the incredible opportunity to attend Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s speech at the London Defence Conference, where he emphasized the importance of bolstering defense spending and reinforcing trans-Atlantic security priorities. We also shared conversations with high-level British officials, visited NATO headquarters, walked on the Normandy beaches, and reflected in World War II military cemeteries. The perspectives I gained on this trip deepened my appreciation for nuanced yet pragmatic viewpoints and challenged me to think critically about the US’s role on the global stage after WWII. Ultimately, my time abroad refined my ability to assess foreign policy challenges from historical and contemporary perspectives. 

In a time of global reordering and uncertainty about the future, we must reflect on the history of what America has been and decide what America must be. 

The End of the American Empire? 

After heavy losses in WWII, European nations became occupied with rebuilding their economies, while the US and USSR found themselves face-to-face in a power vacuum. The ideological competition of the Cold War dominated the 20th century as both America and the Soviet Union gained power in their respective spheres of influence. As destructive as the Cold War was, it also sparked massive growth in population, industry, and technology. By investing billions of dollars to outcompete the Soviet Union, the United States pioneered technological innovations, achieved unprecedented military superiority, and forged itself as an economic powerhouse. 

The post-WWII era saw the rise and fall of global institutions and the emergence of a “liberal international order” that aimed to establish lasting peace. Yet, non-Western-aligned countries criticized the Bretton Woods system, NATO, and the International Monetary Fund as unfairly advantaging—and even revolving around—US interests. While some nations praised this as an era of stability through unilateral strength, others feared that America was simply replacing Britain’s previous global hegemony. 

Indeed, the uniquely peaceful transition of power from Great Britain to the United States can be explained by their intertwined diplomatic and military histories. Throughout the last two centuries, both nations have shaped each other’s national security policies and visions of global order. Scholars and policymakers today venerate this alliance as the US-UK “Special Relationship”—one that has withstood multiple wars as both each other’s enemy and ally. While there are similarities between the rise of the United States and the British colonial empire, America’s dominance on the global stage is unprecedented. 

Power made the world convenient for the US: military superiority allowed the US to influence world order and intervene at will; dollar hegemony attracted investment and allowed the US to run a perpetual trade deficit; and the legacy of American sacrifices in WWII brought respect for American liberal values. Our foreign policy, though not perfect, used to be driven by genuinely altruistic ideals of democracy, freedom, and human rights. Here, democracy meant governance by and for the people; freedom meant the sanctity of inalienable rights; and human rights meant the universal dignity of individuals. The “American Dream” represented prosperity that was tangible, achievable. But somewhere along the way, that dream died. Where did America’s “greatness” come from, and when will she be forced to face her eventual demise? 

Just as the empires of the past believed their reign was immortal, the US assumes it has a permanent place in history. But nothing is guaranteed. The instinct to exceptionalize the United States must be revisited, questioned, and challenged. 

The United States has entered a state of self-cannibalization. It has scrapped government agencies, defunded public education, criminalized poverty, ridiculed international diplomacy, dissolved humanitarian aid, shaken the global economy, and entrenched its citizens in a politics of fear. After abusing the privilege of being a global hegemon, the United States has hollowed itself out—it is both overextended and not doing enough. 

The Importance of Alliances

A decades-long quest to promote “democracy” justified military campaigns such as the Korean and Vietnam Wars, coups in Latin America, and the War on Terror. Consequently, the US began to see itself as the puppeteer of other countries with the right to wreak havoc and replace governments whenever it saw fit. Actions that, if done by any other country, would have them deemed a terrorist state. But because it is the United States, condemnation from the international community is lackluster at best. Where did such a privilege to destroy come from? Even now, the US has disregarded key partnerships and threatened the credibility of security guarantees. We have forgotten the core of American diplomacy: we have a responsibility to exert global leadership by building strong alliances with other democracies. 

Alliances are not only crucial to successful US foreign policy, but they are also key to a globalized world and an interconnected economy. Normalizing relations creates the conditions for open dialogue and cooperation on collective issues, from nuclear nonproliferation to climate change. The problem arises when countries begin to view alliances as a burden rather than a benefit. Whether it be South Korea, Japan, the UK, or France, the United States’ alliances run deeper than diplomacy—they are born out of a shared struggle for democracy. If we want to maintain a truly global world, we have to recognize our strength in unity. 

BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa), the counterbalance to the dominant Western order, does not function the same. These countries may share a desire to counter Western values, but their ideologies are not cohesive; BRICS is fundamentally a marriage of convenience. Transatlantic alliances, in contrast, are driven by a decades-long process of geopolitical alignment and value-based policy coordination. 

Despite this advantage, the United States has shirked its global leadership. China and Russia have wasted no time capitalizing on the opportunity to take the stage. Already this year, China hosted the Global Security Initiative and Shanghai Cooperation Organization Summit to deepen ties with Eurasian partners. If the US wants to regain credibility (which has been badly damaged), it must reinvigorate existing alliances and prioritize winning over non-aligned countries. Countries might be skeptical of partnering with China, but by shutting the door, the US is offering them no choice.

For all the havoc America has wreaked, a reckless disregard for the foundations of our past threatens to undo all the good we have done. We need pathways for cooperation, not an obstinate attitude of superiority towards our peers. If we truly believe in American exceptionalism, we ought to extend our power to uplift others, not dominate them. One day, when America has lost its power, the path forward will be dependent on our alliances. We alone cannot persist. 

For that, we look to history. 

War, Memory, and Purpose

History not only shapes national identity, it grounds a nation in humility. Take Westminster Abbey as an example: the 13th-century building, standing in the heart of London, inspires reverence in all who pass by. Ancient cathedrals, temples, and remnants offer the same effect. It is through these sacred sites that people are invited to reflect on their shared history and be reminded of their ultimate insignificance. Americans, otherwise, are lost because we don’t have a 1,000-year-old building to revel at. 

American infrastructure feels soulless. Every city is identical: modern high-rises, commercial offices, chain restaurants. Personality is sacrificed for function. Nothing in American cities makes us realize and respect our smallness above all else. The lack of ancient historical landmarks might explain the fever of American Exceptionalism—we don’t have an era of greatness to look back on, because we are great now. The modern United States simply pales in comparison to the hundreds of years of culture remembered by other societies. Instead, the US is modern, efficient, and above all else, special. But what exactly does it mean to be American? The lack of a cohesive historical narrative is seen in symptoms of frustration. Whether it is an obsession with culture wars, identity politics, or outbursts of violence, we are in a moment of confrontation with our past. We are wrestling with the discomfort of deciding who we are as a nation moving forward. 

To find a direction, we can look to the past. 

When visiting Normandy, Cambridge, and Brussels this summer, each city told a story of struggle and triumph. Walls in WWI and WWII memorials stretched impossibly long with the names of the dead and missing. And although the US certainly has no shortage of war memorials, all our wars in the past century have been fought abroad. Whether in France, Britain, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Kuwait, Iran, or Afghanistan, our veterans died on foreign land. Are the lessons of war remembered only by the soldiers we send abroad? 

Visiting the D-Day invasion sites helped me appreciate the legacy Americans earned as the defenders of freedom. Walking around Sainte-Mère-Église, one of the first towns liberated during D-Day, instilled in me a sense of surreal tranquility. Hanging from a church pillar in the town center is a memorial to a US paratrooper whose parachute caught on a spire. Inside the church is a beautiful stained glass dedication to the paratroopers who helped liberate Europe. Maybe the wreckage of war is not as present in our consciousness because it is not in the memory of our land. Monuments and memorials in America are certainly moving, but it’s different when you are walking on Omaha Beach, where soldiers were ripped apart by machine gunfire, where men were killed before they even stepped off the ship, where bullets and shrapnel made the ocean appear to be boiling, where the sea ran red with blood. 

History is not behind us—it is the foundation of every choice we make. Walking the beaches of Normandy and the streets of liberated towns, I felt the weight of lives sacrificed for freedom and the fragile promises of democracy. If we ignore our past, we undermine the moral foundation of our nation. It is our responsibility to understand history, conflict, diplomacy, and humankind. The history of the US—sending young soldiers abroad to fight against tyranny—cannot be forgotten. Our fellow Americans died for a purpose. We cannot let that purpose die with them. 

Power without purpose is fleeting, and greatness without conscience is empty. To be American is to recognize that we are part of a larger story—one of a world constantly reshaping itself. One of the biggest lessons I learned from my trip to London was that history is not separate from us. We are history. Therefore, what do we stand for? 

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Many thanks to the world-renowned War Studies Department at King’s College London and the Clements Center for National Security. The May Term in London provides students the opportunity to learn firsthand about the US-UK special relationship through visits to important landmarks in British cultural heritage and Anglo-American strategic history, as well as private events with senior policymakers and historians.

Special thanks to Dr. Hillary Briffa, Dr. Maeve Ryan, Dr. Michael Mosser, Dr. Alexandria Sukalo, Alex Foggett, Dr. Kate Weaver, Brett Cook, and all the Clements Center and KCL faculty and guest lecturers who made this amazing program possible.