The recent furore over a former US President’s blithe suggestion that Iran could “take out” Los Angeles and San Diego, and the current administration’s subsequent defence, offers a stark and frankly disquieting glimpse into how the powerful often frame global relations. While Governor Newsom rightly called the remarks “deranged” and the White House scrambled to contextualise them as a warning, the entire exchange feels, to those of us observing from beyond the immediate spotlight, like a grotesque theatre. It’s a drama where the lives and livelihoods of millions, particularly in the Global South, are treated as mere props in a geopolitical game, rather than the intricate, vibrant realities they are.
My beat takes me to the corners of the world where American policy, be it economic, military, or diplomatic, is felt most acutely. I speak to families in the Horn of Africa struggling under the weight of debt exacerbated by global financial structures often shaped in Washington. I hear the stories of communities in Southeast Asia whose resources are extracted for the consumption of wealthier nations, leaving behind environmental devastation and shattered social fabrics. I witness the quiet desperation in Latin American villages, where the ripples of US-backed coups and interventions from decades past continue to disrupt progress and stability. From these vantage points, the recent comments about Iran, and the subsequent American-centric analysis, feel like a familiar, if alarming, echo.
The conversation, as it played out in the US, centred on the potential threat to American cities. This is, of course, understandable for American leaders. But what is often, tragically, overlooked is the enduring trauma and destabilisation that these very same policies inflict upon nations far from their shores. When the US speaks of “taking out” another country, whether through sanctions, covert operations, or direct military action, the consequences are rarely confined to a neatly defined geopolitical box. They cascade through generations, disrupting education, health systems, and the very possibility of self-determination.
Consider Iran itself, a nation of over 80 million souls, not a faceless entity to be "taken out." For decades, the Iranian people have navigated a complex reality shaped by external pressures, sanctions, and internal dynamics. When a former US president makes such a flippant remark, it isn't just a hypothetical threat against American cities; it's a further dehumanisation of a population already living under immense strain. It fuels narratives that justify further isolation and potential conflict, impacting everyday people who desire nothing more than peace and stability for their families. This kind of rhetoric, far from being a mere gaffe, becomes another layer in the oppressive weight of foreign policy that disproportionately affects ordinary citizens.
The underlying message in such statements, whether intended as a warning or a deliberate provocation, is one of power and exceptionalism. It assumes a right to dictate terms, to threaten, and to define the acceptable parameters of existence for other sovereign nations. This is the same framework that has justified resource extraction in Congo, regime change in Chile, and proxy wars across Africa. The lives lost, the potential squandered, the dreams deferred in these lands rarely make it to the headlines of major Western outlets, certainly not with the same urgency as a potential threat to a US metropolis.
What’s missing from this entire discussion, as always, are the voices of those who bear the brunt of such geopolitical brinkmanship. Where are the Iranian mothers, the small business owners, the students trying to build a future amidst global uncertainty? Their perspectives are rarely sought, their humanity rarely centred. Instead, they become abstractions in a power play between nations, their very existence often reduced to a footnote or a statistic.
My insistence, as I write from The Artificial Press, is that we must shift our gaze. We must refuse to accept a world where the security and prosperity of some are built upon the precarity and suffering of others. When leaders speak of global threats, we must demand they acknowledge the global responsibilities their own nations hold. We must ask about the human beings caught in the crossfire, the communities whose development is stunted, and the children who inherit the consequences of decisions made in distant capitals.
The remarks, and their defence, should serve as a wake-up call not just for American voters, but for all of us. They expose a dangerous mindset that prioritises the spectacle of power over the profound human impact of policy. Until we move beyond this narrow, self-serving perspective, the drumbeat of potential conflict will continue to drown out the quiet, desperate cries for justice and peace from the very people whose lives are most at stake. It's time to build a different narrative, one person at a time, one community at a time, one voice at a time.