nuclear-news

Who Decides What Is a Just War? Imperial Violence and the Lies We Tell About Peace

The conflict between the British, European and American empires and the Ottoman empire was central to the causes and course of World War One, if often forgotten in the West. Two lingering effects of this contention are widely known: the Balfour Declaration, which made a dishonest promise of states for Israel and Palestine, and the Sykes-Picot Agreement, which parcelled out the ‘Middle East’ between the British and the French to defeat Arab nationalism.

But less known is that this conflict did not end in 1918, nor by the Peace of Versailles. In the years 1919 to 1923, the British Empire punched on to secure what was denied Churchill at Gallipoli. They fought to expand their empire while “a general crisis of European control was well under way across much of Asia” (Darwin, After Tamerlane, p. 382). The extended “small wars” of World War One continued to the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923. This “remarkable compromise” recognised Türkiye as an independent republic, defined the political geography of West Asia that is still with us, before oil was what mattered in the Middle East (the region produced 1 per cent of world output in 1920, and 5 per cent in 1939, principally from Iran)

Apr 25, 2026, Burning Archive, Jeff Rich,

Sooner or later, histories of colonisation, and decolonisation, must deal with the question of violence. So much depends, in history, on how the experience of violence is ordered collectively as war, empire, memory and resistance.

“Decolonisation is always a violent phenomenon,” declared Frantz Fanon. It may be right, from the beginning. As described in the climax of this month’s Book Club history, Magellan met a violent death at the hands of the resistance in the Philippines . . . and in revenge for his own unhinged violence and holy man madness.

But, on the other hand, Gandhi preached and practised non-violence, although there were fierce debates across the Indian independence movement about the question of when is violent rebellion justified. Still, more than any single individual, Gandhi has inspired people to believe that empires can be dismantled by peaceful means.

Violence and the “small wars” or “anticolonial uprisings” of the colonial frontier will be my theme for the next two weeks in this extended Season on Decolonisation.

I am spacing my reflections out over two weeks. Why? Three reasons.

Firstly, violence is challenging to write about in this time of war and unrestrained violence in many places. I am opening up a difficult conversation here, with no intent to close it after just one week.

Secondly, there is an important history book on imperial violence that I wanted to share, but it may best be done over a couple of weeks, including through sharing this week an interview with the author, conducted by Jeffrey Sachs.

Thirdly, I did two big interviews on these themes this week—with Jamarl Thomas and Pascal Lottaz— and wanted to share my reflections, beyond the recorded talk, on these topics of violence, our world crisis as a process of likely violent decolonisation, and lessons from history about how the USA empire is disintegrating.

Coincidentally, the Anzac Day memorial prefigures all three themes.

Anzac Day and the Forgotten Treaty of Lausanne

Moreover, a coincident anniversary—25 April, Anzac Day in Australia—made me think of some eerie similarity. This central day in Australian war memorial practice marks the defeat of British imperial forces, including over 8,000 Australian deaths, at Gallipoli in 1915. Churchill ordered the amphibious assault to secure control of the Dardanelles and Turkish Straits, and knock the Ottoman Empire, which controlled what Westerners think of now as the Middle East, out of the First World War. The grandiose, reckless plan failed; perhaps like the USA’s assault on the Hormuz Strait.

The conflict between the British, European and American empires and the Ottoman empire was central to the causes and course of World War One, if often forgotten in the West. Two lingering effects of this contention are widely known: the Balfour Declaration, which made a dishonest promise of states for Israel and Palestine, and the Sykes-Picot Agreement, which parcelled out the ‘Middle East’ between the British and the French to defeat Arab nationalism.

But less known is that this conflict did not end in 1918, nor by the Peace of Versailles. In the years 1919 to 1923, the British Empire punched on to secure what was denied Churchill at Gallipoli. They fought to expand their empire while “a general crisis of European control was well under way across much of Asia” (Darwin, After Tamerlane, p. 382). The extended “small wars” of World War One continued to the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923. This “remarkable compromise” recognised Türkiye as an independent republic, defined the political geography of West Asia that is still with us, before oil was what mattered in the Middle East (the region produced 1 per cent of world output in 1920, and 5 per cent in 1939, principally from Iran). It demilitarised the Straits, which became the foundation of the 1936 Montreux Convention, which some commentators have proposed as a model to resolve the disputes over the Hormuz Strait (as I discussed in my interview with Pascal Lottaz). It set the course for the modern history of Türkiye, and new forms of imperial colonialism in Egypt, the Levant, Iraq and Iran.

This forgotten, crucial treaty came to mind this week because of those connections with the small forgotten wars of colonialism, the resolution of our contemporary wars in West Asia, and a paradox that is often overlooked when commentators make cartoon comparisons of British and US American hegemony. 1923 was the high noon of British empire, when it controlled more territory than at any other time. The British made their empire great again by making the Middle East, but before the oil wells provided much return on investment. It was a paradoxical success, an imperial Pyrrhic victory. As John Darwin wrote,

Once the brief excitement of war imperialism had passed, there was little enthusiasm for an Arab empire in either Britain or France – especially one that was going to cost money. If the Middle East’s partition was the high tide of empire, it was the tide that turned soonest, the imperial moment that was shortest.

Darwin, After Tamerlane, p. 387

It was for this reason that, in my interview with Jamarl Thomas, I compared the USA’s current dark time of brutalist expansionism to this brief high tide of the British Empire.

Violence, Empire and Decolonisation

“Decolonisation is always a violent phenomenon,” declared Frantz Fanon in The Wretched of the Earth after years of the Algerian War of Independence. He did not live to see an alternative, but his tract still inspires believers in armed resistance to settler colonialism worldwide.

But was Fanon’s decree a rationalisation of bitter revenge? Was it a militant’s rallying cry for others to sacrifice their lives for a national cause? Was it another poet-psychiatrist’s elaborate projection of shadows, not more defensible than the ethnic cleansing of Radovan Karadzic? Did Fanon succumb to mimicry of imperial Manichean violence, as Nietzsche warned?

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”

Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil (1886)

Reading The Wretched of the Earth inspires many who identify as belonging to an ‘axis of resistance’ or anti-imperial struggle. But it does chill my blood. The text is haunted by the violence of Fanon’s colonial oppressors………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. https://jeffrich.substack.com/p/who-decides-what-is-a-just-war-imperial?utm_source=post-email-title&publication_id=247469&post_id=195185147&utm_campaign=email-post-title&isFreemail=true&r=1ise1&triedRedirect=true&utm_medium=email

April 29, 2026 - Posted by Christina Macpherson | Religion and ethics