How The Odyssey reflects the decline of the liberal international order, drawing parallels between ancient Greece and modern US global leadership.
I HAVE come to expect great things from a Christopher Nolan film – great visuals, excellent script but most importantly a compelling and thought-provoking story.
The Odyssey was no different, and I was not disappointed. It delivered on all counts. What I did not expect was to leave the cinema thinking less about ancient Greece than about the state of the world today – perhaps this was his intention all the while.
Everyone is familiar with the story of Odysseus. It follows the journey of Odysseus, King of Ithaca, as he spends 10 years trying to sail home after the Trojan War. Along the way, he battles Gods and mystical beasts.
Meanwhile, back home, his wife Penelope fends off suitors while his son Telemachus searches for news of him. The story ends with Odysseus returning in disguise, reclaiming his household and slaying the suitors who had overrun his palace.
Yet beneath this epic spectacle, at least in this modern adaptation of the story, lies a subtle but unsettling irony. One particular narrative thread evident in the film but perhaps not in the book, lingered long after the credits rolled: the fear of the mysterious “Sea Peoples”.
Throughout the film, rumours of the Sea Peoples spread across the Mediterranean. They are spoken of with dread. Described as raiders who descend from the sea, leaving destruction in their wake and kingdoms, living in fear of who may arrive over the horizon next. They are portrayed as a faceless menace, an external force threatening the very fabric of civilisation.
The cinematic irony lies in the discovery that those feared marauders were, in many respects, the Greeks themselves. Having razed Troy, Greek fleets on their way home, traversed the seas, landing on foreign shores, bringing violence and upheaval wherever they went. Rumours of them even reach the shorts of Ithaca and provided a compelling reason to raise up a new king.
This reversal is more than clever storytelling by Nolan. It captures one of history’s enduring truths: those who see themselves as liberators may be remembered by others as conquerors.
Heroes and marauders are often separated only by perspective. It is a lesson with profound relevance to contemporary international politics. It also offers a surprisingly powerful lens through which to understand the trajectory of American power and the gradual unravelling of the liberal international order.
For nearly eight decades after the Second World War, the United States stood as the principal architect and defender of the liberal international order. Washington championed institutions, rules and norms designed to prevent the return of great-power aggression.
The United Nations; the Bretton Woods institutions, an open trading system; collective security arrangements and the principle that sovereignty should be respected were all intended to ensure that power would be constrained by law rather than exercised through force alone.
America’s greatest achievement was not merely its military or economic dominance. It was convincing much of the world that international order was preferable to international anarchy and that rules, however imperfectly applied, should govern relations between states.
Today, however, that promise appears increasingly fragile. Faced with intensifying strategic competition, the US has shown a growing willingness to bypass or reinterpret the very principles it once championed.
Economic coercion through tariffs and sanctions, selective adherence to international law, withdrawals from multilateral agreements, unilateral military actions and the increasing weaponisation of global supply chains have all fuelled a perception that rules now apply only when they align with national interests.
The irony is difficult to ignore. The liberal international order was built precisely to prevent powerful states from behaving as unconstrained great powers. Yet, its chief architect increasingly appears willing to suspend those constraints when expedient.
In doing so, the US risks becoming the very actor its own post-war order was designed to restrain. This is where Nolan’s depiction of the Sea Peoples becomes especially resonant.
The people of Ithaca fear stories of savage raiders crossing the sea, believing danger lies somewhere beyond the horizon. They never stop to consider that those inspiring such fear may be their own countrymen.
This same paradox increasingly surrounds American leadership. Perhaps this is the deeper warning embedded within The Odyssey. The greatest threat to an order rarely comes from those outside its gates.
More often, it emerges when those entrusted with protecting it gradually come to resemble the very forces they once condemned.
Dr Peter Brian M. Wang is the deputy head of the Centre of Economics and Public Finance at the National Institute of Public Administration. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com
