There’s an old proverb that says, “The lion cannot be the king without the forest — and the forest cannot survive without the lion.” This image, of one powerful beast lording over a domain that enables its very existence, offers a curiously apt analogy for the role the United States plays in the modern world. For decades, the US has roared as the global alpha — economically, militarily, politically — while the rest of the world, divided, distrustful, or simply too cautious, played the role of the passive forest. But what if that forest decided to grow thorns?

The United States didn’t inherit its dominance solely through exceptional effort or innovation. Much of it came from being at the right place at the right time — particularly when the rest of the world was in ruins. The two World Wars, especially the second, acted as brutal resets. While Europe, Russia, and Asia lost lives, infrastructure, and morale, the US emerged relatively unscathed — in fact, stronger than ever. Its factories roared to life, its banks funded the rebuilding of nations, and its soldiers returned as victors rather than victims. In 1944, the Bretton Woods Conference sealed the financial hierarchy: the US dollar, backed by gold, would serve as the world’s reserve currency. Power, by then, wasn’t just about tanks; it was about trust, and the world trusted the US.

After 1945, the US didn’t just lead — it built the institutions that defined leadership. The United Nations, the IMF, the World Bank, and later the SWIFT network for international payments all bore the fingerprints of American design. The military-industrial complex expanded into a global garrison. Aircraft carriers patrolled oceans; military bases sprang up like franchises across Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. The Pax Americana was less a peace treaty and more a carefully choreographed monopoly.

When the Soviet Union crumbled in 1991, Washington was gifted a historical jackpot. The Cold War ended not with a bang, but with Russia staggering into the next decade in economic and political disarray. NATO expanded eastward. The US now had no military peer, no ideological nemesis, no serious opposition. The unipolar world had begun, and with it, a new style of dominance: moral policing through selective interventions — in Iraq, in Libya, in Serbia — often justified by human rights, but always cloaked in strategic interest.

Curiously, not all economic giants could assert their strength. Japan and Germany, despite being technological titans, were held in check. Post-war treaties ensured their militaries would remain symbolic rather than sovereign. In global politics, they were perpetual benchwarmers, cheering on Team America. Even the European Union, with all its diplomatic polish and economic scale, never quite managed to speak with one voice — or stand up when the US pushed.

China, however, emerged as a different story. Since Deng Xiaoping’s reforms, it has grown into an economic powerhouse, churning out infrastructure, military technology, and trade routes with an almost imperial ambition. But with size came suspicion. Its actions in Xinjiang, its approach to Hong Kong, its initial opacity during the COVID crisis, and its often-opaque debt diplomacy bred mistrust. The world acknowledged China’s strength but hesitated to let it lead.

So here we are, in 2025, with a world that knows the lion is aging but still unwilling to dislodge it. The dollar still dominates. The US military still outpaces the next ten countries combined. Big Tech, based in Silicon Valley, still dictates much of the planet’s digital life. And through its mastery of narrative — Hollywood, Twitter, global news — the US doesn’t just fight wars. It shapes minds.

But what if the world no longer wishes to play the forest?

Enter the idea of a new global operating system — inspired not by superpowers but by blockchain. Unlike old hierarchies, blockchain technology works on decentralisation. There is no king. Power is distributed. Trust is verified by consensus, not fiat. Imagine a world where international relations worked similarly — not dictated from Washington, Beijing, or Brussels, but governed by mutual accountability, transparency, and peer-based consensus.

In such a system, no country would control the currency — as BRICS nations are now tentatively attempting through discussions around a reserve alternative to the dollar. Trade would be settled in local currencies or digital tokens tied to real value, like commodities. Global policies — whether on climate change, data security, or financial regulation — would emerge from a protocol of consent, not coercion. Aid and sanctions would be conditional, like smart contracts — measurable, traceable, and fair.

Some pieces of this vision already exist. India trades oil with Russia in rupees. China is experimenting with the Digital Yuan. The EU’s GDPR, a digital human right framework,  has challenged the US tech monopoly on data. Africa is pushing for collective global representation. Southeast Asia increasingly prefers regional security structures over distant Western promises. A distributed ledger of trust is forming — slowly, unevenly, but visibly.

Yet it would be naïve to imagine a sudden dethroning. The US remains resilient, not just because of its assets but because the rest of the world remains cautious. Economically, the Global South is still dependent on Western markets and capital. Militarily, many nations rely on American hardware or defence guarantees. Even narratives, from think tanks to media, often echo the Washington consensus.

What could change this? For one, coordinated coalitions — not anti-American but post-American. India, Germany, Brazil, Japan — all democracies with strong institutions — could form their own collective framework. Financial independence would require alternate settlement systems. Media independence needs localised narrative powerhouses — not just Western-trained journalists operating foreign desks.

In the near term, three scenarios are plausible. First, the continuation of the US-centric world, albeit more brittle. Second, the rise of a true multipolarity, where no lion dominates, and all forests grow with autonomy. Third — and most likely — a hybrid order, where the US remains powerful, but no longer unrivalled. New coalitions emerge, not to tear down the lion, but to reclaim sovereignty over their own trees.

History tells us power is never permanent — it flows where trust lives. The US rose not merely on merit, but on the ruins of others. That’s not shameful — it’s structural. But the structures can change. The world, if it so chooses, can rebuild the rules not with tanks and treaties, but with trust and transparency.

Because in the end, no lion can rule forever if the forest decides to change the rules of the game.